Ten years ago, my grandmother passed away and my mother and uncle were flabbergasted when, after the funeral, I asked if I could rummage through Granny's attic. After about 45 minutes of digging, I appeared holding a small, faded red felt Christmas ornament.
My mother and uncle asked if they could help me find whatever I was looking for. I told them that the ornament was what I had gone after: Granny's Christmas Pixie.
With a look of great concern, they asked, "Why?"
I told them that, when I was little, I'd stay behind when everyone else did their Christmas Eve shopping, so I could help Granny wrap presents, water the Christmas tree and prepare dinner. She'd eventually grow weary of my questions and constant chatter. But instead of telling me to be quiet, Granny made up a story of magical pixies and how they'd give you special wisdom if you listened long enough.
So, off I'd go to sit quietly in her living room, where I would gaze at the red felt Pixie that always stood on a branch near the top of her tree. Sometimes I think I sat for a whole hour, just hoping it would spiral down and dance a jig, or bestow Christmas wisdom on me.
"Now that Granny's gone," I told my mother and uncle, "I want her Pixie to remind me to sit quiet, when my head is roaring with constant questions and monkey chatter during the hectic holiday season."
One Christmas Eve, several years after Pixie joined my Christmas menagerie; I sat after my children had gone to sleep and thought about how I missed Granny and the simplicity of being a child. I stared up at that whimsical ornament, trying to quiet my heart and my mind.
And the most amazing thing happened. The longer I stared, the more memories came flooding back. I began to hear the shuffle of my Granny's slippers on the linoleum kitchen floor. I heard water begin to boil as she cooked the corn and a metal spoon tinkle against a pot as she prepared giblet gravy for the dressing.
The smell of turkey wafted around the corner as she opened the creaky oven door to get more juice for the gravy. She hummed "It's Beginning to Look A Lot like Christmas" as plates clanked together while she got them down from the old wooden cupboard.
I felt emotions I hadn't tapped into for years, and I got a lump in my throat and tears welled.
Somehow I think I knew even as a child that the magic of Christmas is in our hearts. No matter what age you are ... those memories are the greatest gift.
My mother and uncle asked if they could help me find whatever I was looking for. I told them that the ornament was what I had gone after: Granny's Christmas Pixie.
With a look of great concern, they asked, "Why?"
I told them that, when I was little, I'd stay behind when everyone else did their Christmas Eve shopping, so I could help Granny wrap presents, water the Christmas tree and prepare dinner. She'd eventually grow weary of my questions and constant chatter. But instead of telling me to be quiet, Granny made up a story of magical pixies and how they'd give you special wisdom if you listened long enough.
So, off I'd go to sit quietly in her living room, where I would gaze at the red felt Pixie that always stood on a branch near the top of her tree. Sometimes I think I sat for a whole hour, just hoping it would spiral down and dance a jig, or bestow Christmas wisdom on me.
"Now that Granny's gone," I told my mother and uncle, "I want her Pixie to remind me to sit quiet, when my head is roaring with constant questions and monkey chatter during the hectic holiday season."
One Christmas Eve, several years after Pixie joined my Christmas menagerie; I sat after my children had gone to sleep and thought about how I missed Granny and the simplicity of being a child. I stared up at that whimsical ornament, trying to quiet my heart and my mind.
And the most amazing thing happened. The longer I stared, the more memories came flooding back. I began to hear the shuffle of my Granny's slippers on the linoleum kitchen floor. I heard water begin to boil as she cooked the corn and a metal spoon tinkle against a pot as she prepared giblet gravy for the dressing.
The smell of turkey wafted around the corner as she opened the creaky oven door to get more juice for the gravy. She hummed "It's Beginning to Look A Lot like Christmas" as plates clanked together while she got them down from the old wooden cupboard.
I felt emotions I hadn't tapped into for years, and I got a lump in my throat and tears welled.
Somehow I think I knew even as a child that the magic of Christmas is in our hearts. No matter what age you are ... those memories are the greatest gift.
