It's My Turn Now. . .

It was one of those days.  I was thinking to myself, I really don’t feel like doing this, but I just have to do it now or I won’t have any other time to get it done.  The Christmas decorations.  Should I put up one tree in the sunroom?  Put the other tree downstairs?  Do I decorate all the side tables. . .then it dawned on me, I had to do it.  I had to carry on tradition.

When I was a little girl, Christmas Day meant that all of my mom’s sisters and brother and their families and all of the cousins would be gathered at Grandma’s and Pap Pap’s house by noon. There would be no doubts in our little minds that Santa had visited Grandma’s house!  The smell of the pine from the live Christmas tree with the bubble lights permeated the air in the big old house. As you moved from the front parlor into the dining room and kitchen, smells of candied yams, ham, fresh bread, cinnamon apples and pumpkin wafted all the way through the house.

The adults mainly stayed in the kitchen and dining room helping out (They just wanted by the food!) and talking among themselves about all the things adult sisters and brothers talk about.

There were presents under the tree in the living room and there were beautiful Christmas decorations (many of which were provided courtesy of the grandchildren’s creativity) of every kind adorning the tables, the wooden banisters (it temporarily prevented our sliding adventures), and Grandma had oodles of yummy, chewy cookies and candies that called to our taste buds and irresistibly drew us into a tantalizing ecstasy of indulgence with gooey chocolate chips, sweet date pinwheels, figs, pecans, walnuts, and fruits. . .all delightfully cut out and shaped into magnificent treats.  In the background, soft Christmas carols would be playing on Pap Pap’s old record player.

Each one of us were thrilled when, after awhile, Grandma would say, “I think Santa Claus left you a little something, but I don’t remember where he put it, so you’ll just have to go and hunt for it.”  We let out a whoop and started looking under furniture, along the stairways, behind doors, until we found the treasured gift with our name on it.  After a day of playing with our gifts and our cousins, eating sumptuous ham and turkey and desserts, we would curl up on the floor anywhere and drift off to sleep listening to the adults chatter.

Better get those Christmas boxes out and get the tree trimmed and the tinsel and wreaths hung.  Cookies needed baking. Some gifts needed wrapping. Christmas carols were playing on my iPhone. Christmas would be here soon.  I had to get it done.  It is my turn now.  I must carry on.  I am Grandma!!

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I thought this poem was a fitting tribute to my Grandma.  She did wear an apron all the time and I find myself pulling one out of the pantry to keep my clothes neat when preparing a meal.

The strings were tied, it was freshly washed, and maybe even pressed.
For Grandma, it was everyday to choose one when she dressed.
The simple apron that it was, you would never think about;
the things she used it for, that made it look worn out.
She may have used it to hold some wildflowers that she'd found.
Or to hide a crying child's face when a stranger came around.
Imagine all the little tears that were wiped with just that cloth.
Or it became a potholder to serve some chicken broth.
She probably carried kindling to stoke the kitchen fire.
To hold a load of laundry, or to wipe the clothesline wire.
When canning all her vegetables, it was used to wipe her brow.
You never know, she might have used it to shoo flies from the cow.
She might have carried eggs in from the chicken coop outside.
Whatever chore she used it for, she did them all with pride.
When Grandma went to heaven, God said she now could rest.
I'm sure the apron that she chose, was her Sunday best.

-by Tina Trivett-