-Isms: Views on life in rural America

While I am not a big fan of Charles Dickens’ novella “A Christmas Carol,” I feel the ghost of Christmas past likes to visit every night in December. Some memories make me laugh, others are best buried under a blanket of fluffy snow.

As I contemplated which gifts to purchase for the grandkids, my mind wandered to our Wausa grandparents. First, Grandma required we make a wish list of five items. In pure Grandma fashion, we would usually get most of them. Spoiled, I know.

Then, I didn’t realize the sacrifices our grandparents made so we would have a holly, jolly Christmas. Now, what I wouldn’t give to have one more holiday night with them, sipping hot chocolate with marshmallows, watching the weatherman on KTIV track Santa’s progress, wondering how St. Nick made it to Wausa around 6 p.m., but was now along the east coast, headed back to Siouxland.

Their Christmas tree always featured candle-shaped lights that bubbled. After dinner, once presents had been distributed and opened - waves of crinkled gift wrap strewn about - we were mesmerized by the sparkle and glow.

A silent night, holy night.

Then, there were Christmas celebrations at the Fields family farm or in Tilden, after the grandparents moved to town. Once all the cousins arrived, we’d assemble a makeshift bed on the floor in front of the fireplace, giggling at stories or singing Christmas songs until, one by one, we’d drift to sleep.

I loved the silver tinsel tree stretching to the ceiling. A color wheel cast hues of red, blue, orange and yellow on the thin strips of imitation pine needles. Combine that with the glow from the fireplace, and everything seemed so warm and cozy.

All is calm, all is bright.

Only a handful of Christmas nights were spent at our Clay Center home. If we were there, we usually were trapped by heavy snowfall, awaiting cleared roads to head over the rivers and through the non-existent woods to grandmothers’ houses we’d go. I remember the snow piling higher and higher, the sun glistening off the top layer of snowflakes, reminding me of a camera’s flash bulb. It offered a picture-perfect moment.

Years later, when I buried my husband a month before Christmas, the last thing I wanted was to decorate, but I did, to keep some semblance of normalcy for Courtney. We baked Christmas cookies and she spent evenings making various holiday goodies for gifts. I didn’t think life would ever be normal again, and prayed for inner strength to guide us through an unthinkable time.

Mother and child, holy infant, so tender and mild.

And, I remember the first Christmas in Clearwater. Shimmering white lights dancing against red ornaments early on Christmas morning, the scampering of little feet as two of the grandsons made their way toward the tree and mound of presents, exclaiming, “Grandma, Santa was here!” Perfection in an imperfect world.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

I hope you all have a delightful holiday season, filled with family, full of love and light.