My mom called me mid-December and asked me to come home a little early to take a family Christmas picture. Well, the idea of taking a regular dressed-up-in-front-of-the-tree-kindofathing sounded so traditional and boring. So what better idea than to take a very traditional and boring theme and jazz it up a la "Awkward Family Photos" with Christmas sweatshirts (my 91 year-old grandmother's as a matter of fact), Santa hats, bows, and antlers for the dogs. And here we are. Georgia hated the antlers so much that we opted for the festive bow. I love that Rosie's yawning in Mom's lap. And the best part: these outfits were used for real at some point or other.
Speaking of for real awkward family photos... Here's a picture of my dad (top left) and his siblings visiting Santa. I'm guessing my dad was about 11 or 12 at the time and looks the same as he did as a grown up. What would the caption for this picture be?
This year, my family and I decided to go on a whirlwind trip across the state--both ends--over the Christmas weekend. On Christmas Eve we trekked Down East to visit my mom's side of the family. The intention was visiting downtown Winton to see off Santa as he rode through town on a blazing red fire engine through the sole stoplight, blaring holiday greetings to a population of...mm...100. Nothing like it, really. But we were late and missed the action.
I got to spend part of the evening with Grammy (former Christmas sweatshirt owner), sneaking port and listening to stories about her life. Grammy told me about her friends at Springmoor, the community she lives in, and how she feels sorry for those who don't have families that want to visit them over Christmas. She talked about how she and her sister Lola shared a big room in their house in the Cotswolds that was the coldest in the whole house. Sometimes, she said, they would have ice on their pillows upon waking up because their breath had frozen on the sheets! And she also talked about World War II, and the things she lived through: listening for buzz bombs, being scared of moonlit nights and the incendiary bombs the Germans sent over their dorms, the town's sugar factory being bombed and the sugar burning so quickly and brightly that the town looked aglow in daylight. As a "millennial," hearing her stories makes me realize how much we take for granted especially the resources we have, our sense of patriotism, family, community, people serving in the military...and things I haven't thought to mention.
Yesterday (Christmas), we drove to Winston-Salem for a visit with all of my dad's side of the family. Lindsay has a new baby, who is quick to smile and has such a relaxed disposition, which my sister hopes will change my mind about having children (it might). My favorite part of our meal with the Suttons was sitting at the "kids table" with my cousins Addison and Trey and the old folks of the family--and what a mixed group: Grammy, my mom's mom; Esther, Lindsay's grandmother; Esther's boyfriend, John; and Gram, my dad's mom. Esther preached about loving one another, John talked about his preferences (mainly in food) and how they've changed as he's reached his late 80s (simple foods, peaceful settings, routine), Gram talked about my dad, which brought some tears and memories, and Grammy listened (she is the perfect example of a good listener). I deeply appreciated their perspectives.
This Christmas has felt especially poignant with the realization (especially as I get older) that my relatives aren't getting any younger, and I don't know how many Christmases I have with any of them. Certainly, no one of us knows how long we'll live, but I think the holidays magnify that sense of bittersweetness. There's sometimes a pre-gathering sadness at the fact that my dad isn't with us to celebrate the holidays (though that's usually mitigated by blaring Billboard's greatest Christmas songs in his honor). And I don't know how many Christmases Grammy, for instance, or Papa, my dad's dad, are going to be here. Papa gave everyone a professional photo of him this year, and it just made me wonder if he knows something we don't. (Yes, maybe I'm reading too much into it, and yes, perhaps I'm being morbid, but I can't help it). Maybe we all know something we choose not to know though, and as we age it becomes less of an issue to deny the fact that none of us are going to be around forever, thus giving us permission (in a way) to talk more freely about what's next for us.
One of my cohort friends who is my mom's age said earlier this month, "The holidays get harder as you get older." What she meant is that each year brings its own set of memories and sentiments, deaths and births, and that it can be really difficult to navigate such a time of joy and expectation. And the more expectation you have, the less likely it is that those expectations will be met. Such an ironic twist on a holiday that puts so much expectation into the birth of one baby boy. I suppose that's why I see my neighbors with a "Jesus is the reason for the season" magnet next to those reindeer antlers they have sticking out the side windows of their van.
All I know is that my point of reference is my family (biological and chosen) to the point that I get almost too sentimental and make my heart hurt about it. They make me laugh. Make me sad and/or angry. Make me reflective (and know when I need space in those times of reflection). As the new year comes rolling in, I have a mind to take time to think and feel about all the things that have happened this year and what I want in the year ahead. Most of all, I'm just really glad that I've been with the people I love this holiday.
Happy eating those leftover Christmas treats!
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