Holiday Nostalgia

“I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter,

but I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry.”

~ Cat Stevens~

 

I've thought a lot about this Cat Stevens quote since I read it a few months ago. It's the same kind of thought that my friend Terri expressed when I told her about my trip to France. She said to me, "Go make your memories now."    

 

An image of my totally spent and diapered eighty year old body slouched in a chair in a publicly funded long term care facility flashed through my mind.   I  pictured myself grinning like an idiot as my mind lost itself in all of the shenanigans I've managed to get myself into. (Side note here; there are moments in my memory that I hope stay clear as my mind deteriorates, like that little jewelry shop in Montmartre, and sitting by the shoreline in my cork heels and brown dress planning my future.....)

 

As evergreen displays and shiny Christmas decorations make their way to window displays and store shelves, thoughts and memories of the holidays can't help but trickle into consciousness.  I smell cinnamon pine cones and think of my friend Jan.  I see those animated, press-button decorations that sing and do some tacky dance, and I think of my friend Sandy.  In October, I buy my fruitcake ingredients and think of my grandmother. When I see ribbon candy I think of what a treat that was when my mom bought it, and tangerines always make me think of the year my dad did the shopping because mom was in the hospital, and he let me eat all of the tangerines I wanted.  Back then, in a small town, tangerines were a treat, you couldn't get them but for that time of year.  When I see old-fashioned french cream candies I always buy a few, not because I love eating them, but because I love the memories of my maternal grandmother that they invoke.

 

Regardless of how we spend the holidays in our adult years we always measure them by our memories from childhood. I have surrounded myself over the years with a wonderful set of friends who commit to spending every Christmas together.  It's become our tradition, and what I refer to as the "misfit" Christmas. My paternal grandmother always had enough (of everything), for "one more". I've followed in those footsteps, and I open my home to anyone else who would otherwise spend the holidays alone.

 

We all bring our old traditions to the table. The fun, happy traditions, like how they make their mom's gravy, or a jello mold on the table, or Christmas Crackers.  We also bring the nostalgia of the past to share as well, like the joy of being a kid and opening that one gift from Santa that you'll never forget.

 

There is also grief at the table.  We grieve our losses every year, and how in moments of nostalgia we long for our lost families.  Just like the quote from Cat Stevens, it's the most joyous times that bring the tears, and the memories of what seemed devastating in the past often summons laughter. There are tears and there is laughter.  It's been a number of years, and although this tradition is not traditional, it is ours, and it is what brings us comfort,meaning and gratitude every December 25th. 

 

I wonder what my son will remember traditions in our home. Will it be our traditional "Night Before Christmas" breakfast? Will it be decorating the tree with the decorations I buy for him every year?  Or will it be the memories that make us laugh, like the blue streak I curse every year when I have to string the lights on the tree? Or the year I chased the cat with the broom for knocking the ornaments off the tree -the wrong cat!? Will it be the giant orange jello goldfish on the table?

 

Nostalgia can be the most lonely place in the world as we grow up and grow older, establishing our own traditions in the wake of what life has presented to us. I have to agree with Cat Stevens on this one, I too never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry. 

 

I also never knew looking back on my tears would make me laugh. 

 

Let me tell you a story.This is my story. Everyone who was there with me would have their own version, but this is mine;

 

What I remember most about Christmas is the day of Christmas Eve. I loved this day more than Christmas itself, and way more than boxing day.  My mother was a domestic dynamo - kinda like Martha Stewart on crack.  The house had to be immaculate.  The vaccuum ran through the entire house at least once that day, and everything was polished, put away, and ready to go. 

 

Generally on the 24th of December, the guys that worked for my dad would come over, have some drinks and eat from the wonderful trays of food that my mom magically produced out of nowhere.  There were cold cuts and cheeses, crackers and sweets galore. Boy, for all of our differences, I have to say that my mom was one heck of a baker! 

 

My sister and I would clean the house. As well as my mom could bake, she could swear. Holy smokes, sometimes it was like being in the navy, and she was the captain!!!  In those moments, it was awful, but now I look back on it and see the humour - like a bad 70's sitcom.  The cleaning and swearing was all worth it because I knew at the very end of the day, after our regular dinner hour, we would get to bundle up and drive to my gramma's house which was about two blocks away.

 

My grandma's house was humble. She had six children and a bizzillion grandchildren and great grandchilren. None of us were shy or quiet, and the chaos in the house was blissful as a kid.  On Christmas eve we would go over and the first thing we did was go to the tree.  You see, every year my grandmother came up with a new theme for her Christmas tree.  One year it was snowflakes, one year it was popcorn and cranberries that the grandkids strung, and one year it was these hideously ugly cabbage patch look-a-like dolls that she sewed.  We laughed at those dolls until tears rolled down our cheeks, gramma included. Each year she made over 100 decorations to put on the tree, and every year they were different.

 

On Christmas eve, my grandma made a special meal just for the our family, and then she made the traditional meal the next day for everyone else. She was a dynamo. You see, on Christmas day my parents hosted my mom's parents and made it a priority that my sister and I celebrated Christmas in our own home.  So, on Christmas Eve, my grandmother would cook this really great meal - it was often themed as well - just for our visit. One year it was Hawaiian, one year it was German and so on....

 

My grandma was quite a baker too, and she always had coconut cherry balls, mincemeat pie and butter tarts among the many other sweets she made during the holidays. Oh my gawd! My mouth still waters thinking about those tarts.  The mincemeat was another story. I mean what kid can get their head around minced meat as fruit???

 

Grandma handmade our gifts. I still have a beautiful white nightgown tucked away that she made for me when I was in my teens, and a quilt. All of the girls got one pattern, and all of the boys got another.

 

One of my aunts would always be staying at grandma's that night, and I went to church with her every year, along with whichever other cousins, aunts, uncles and friends were around the house at the time.  We sat in a cold country church and sang carols by candlelight, and then wandered home to open gifts. 

 

One very special tradition that we had was to celebrate "Happy Tacky". Each year we would make, buy or often find tacky gifts to give one another.  These are memories of laughter that do not bring tears, just more laughter. The rule aobut "Happy Tacky" was that if you got clothing, you had to try it on for everyone to see.

 

I think about my grandpa putting on an elf hat and posing for a picture, my grandmother donning a bikini, and my mom squeezing into some piece of suck-it-in-undergarment that must have been hiding in a second hand store since 1953.  The year I was engaged, my fiancee was gifted a bowling ball and bowling "helmet" for happy tacky.  My great-aunt saved my first attempt at marzipan from the Christmas before and gave it back to me for the next year for "Happy Tacky". The marzipan was hard as a rock, but still in the shape of a strawberry. 
 

And then there was coming home in the wee hours of the morning, and my mother's annual Christmas melt-down. Only on Christmas did we have "f-ing" potatoes. For the longest time I thought they were a special hybrid only sold during the winter. Needless to say, by 2am, and after peeling every "f-ing" potato in the house, my sister and I were darn glad to get to bed and fall asleep so Santa could come.  It wasn't until I was older that I could appreciate the melt-down, and now that I get thinking about it, what a great strategy to get the kids to actually want to go to bed on Christmas Eve. F-ing brilliant.