Things Remembered

This time of year, memories from my childhood seem to run through my head like an old film strip.

I remember the Christmas I got a drawing desk...the one thing I wanted more than anything, because Nick from McGhee and Me had one and I was convinced it would make my drawing that much better.

I remember the carousel horse ornament my brother Ryan picked out for me when I was 10 because he knew how much I loved them and abundance of Maple Town accessories that were always waiting for me under the tree from my Gramino.

I remember the first Christmas we spent in Florida after moving from Hawaii and how I sat in our living room alone, staring at our lit tree, missing the best friend I'd left behind on Oahu, Mary Coffman. I was only 7.

I remember my Grandma's chocolate chip cookies and my Grandpa's cream puffs and singing carols around the piano with all of my siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents, and parents as my Uncle Billy played. I remember wanting to stand next to my cousin MaryWells during those times because I loved the way she sang.

I remember my Gramino's hot pink lipstick and the way her thinning lips felt on my cheek as she told me for the 100th time that day how much she loved me. I miss those lips.

I remember how my dad always teared up as he read us the Christmas story from the Bible. I never understood as a child why it hit him so hard, but now I get it. It's the part about Mary holding her baby and naming him Jesus. I think he was remembering how he held each of his 5 children and named them with every hope in the world of them growing up to love their Creator and to understand their life's purpose, no matter how hard that purpose might be for a parent to accept. I understand that now.

I remember my mom making snickerdoodles and sausage balls and ham rolls for our Christmas night "dinner." I remember the way she always welcomed anyone in who didn't have a family to spend Christmas with. I remember the assortment of fun Christmas earrings and sweaters she always wore that she had, of course, made herself. She smelled like vanilla and ink...most likely from her vast collection of calligraphy pens and india ink.

I remember falling asleep to Amy Grant's Christmas album followed by instrumentals from Mannheim Steamroller and the glow from our Christmas tree peaking through my cracked bedroom door.

I remember all of these things fondly. And I wonder, what will Eva and Izzy remember about our home at Christmastime?