It's not that I felt like I had 2 mothers per se, but I do feel, in retrospect, that the 2 female roles were merged into this maternally intertwined duo. My Grandma was very quiet, mild tempered, and oftentimes I feel she didn't understand her unbelievably amazing role in all of our lives. As years progressed, certain traditions quietly emerged. I don't think she was always trying to consciously create them, I think they just happened to fall into place as time went along. Things like Blackberry Cobbler for dinner on Sundays. I suppose she just liked to make it, since my Grandpa loved it so much. There was Orange-Chocolate Fudge for my Grandpa on Valentines Day. There was Emmy Lou Harris & many others playing on our record player as Christmas went on all around us. There were chocolate cherries-a tradition Santa so generously took on after the passing of my Grandpa's mother--my Great Grandma. There was Christmas dinner-with the same much anticipated food every year. Traditions carved from the routines that brought joy & love into our home.
Every year it was my Grandpa's, Justin's, and my job to hunt for the tree. We would stop at Campbell's Lot, near our house, and find the most Christmas worthy tree, look at the price tag, and my Grandpa would say "Hmm, maybe we should go somewhere else." So every year we would trek to about 5 other places looking for another tree that measured up at a more appropriate price. Hours later, we'd be limping back into the lot, hoping & praying that the tree wasn't taken by someone much smarter than us. And every year Justin & I would feel this sheepishly guilty excitement that we'd talked Grandpa into the expensive but "Oh so perfect tree."
We would go home, and there was the big box. Decorations from the generations before us. A bird that only my Grandma was allowed to touch. "Filler" ornaments that somehow became memories in the process. The ghosts of Christmas' past whispered through our hearts as we hung garland and tinsel, and wrapped the skirt and beads around the tree.
And yet, of all the traditions, all the memories, all the money spent through the years, there is only one tradition that will hold such a firm place in my heart, something I cannot tangibly pass down to my kids, nor can I really call it my own. My memories involving the Christmas tree topper.
The story itself is so simple, yet the topper, oh my. To the untrained eye, it is piece of heavy black construction paper wrapped in gold foil. To me, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life-the beginnings of this star-where it came from-how far it's traveled. It is so carefully guarded-this star. So lovingly nestled in tissue and placed in a box. Every year as the tree was concluding it's makeover my Grandma would pull out the box containing this star, delicately remove it from it's safekeeping, and hand it to my Grandpa. There was this look. This moment that I would catch. A brief yet everlasting second where their eyes would crinkle at the sides, and they would look deep into each other's eyes, and all the years-all the memories would pass through each other in that look. They would smile in a way that I can't even begin to describe. He would take the star and proudly place it at the top of the tree, onto the designated light bulb. The lights would come on, and the whole tree gleamed in pride. The star on top shimmering in it's golden magnificence.
You see, the story behind this seemingly simple star is this: The first years of marriage were far from easy for them. They were so poor that they couldn't afford much of anything. One year after they had moved from San Diego to Missouri, the movers had charged them more than they were supposed to have. They didn't even have furniture in their home, and they had very little of anything. They couldn't even afford to buy a Christmas tree topper. So instead, my Grandpa made this star, and it has stayed with them ever since. Fashioned out of common household items, yet more valuable than anything else in that box of decorations. It began as a symbol for their Christian beliefs-of that light that shone for the path to the baby Jesus. All this time later it began to reflect something more. A path taken by two people who loved each other so much, even when life was handing them hardships even at their beginnings. As the years passed, they moved back to California where my Grandpa built up his business. He survived the the recession, and was able to make quite a living for them. All that time later, I know they could have bought something more fancy to place on the tree. They could have replaced it a dozen times over. Yet there is absolutely nothing that could ever be more beautiful or perfectly suited for our tree.
I have tried to emulate that over the years. To find something of equal value-to create that memory for our family. I just can't seem to do it. It's funny how years later, I could be so envious of a memory I can't possibly attain. And one that has it's roots in poverty, no less.
I miss my Grandma often, and so poignantly during Christmas time. She was so much to me, and I find solace in it all by carrying on her memories with the traditions I can do. I have also created my own traditions along the way, and feel that by doing so I can give my children a piece of what I feel every time I taste that first bite of Blackberry Cobbler, or hear my Grandma's voice singing along with me to Emmy Lou Harris. Because this really is what the spirit of Christmas is about. Not the commercial version, but the true spirit. This, after all, is what our fondest memories are really sparked from.
