Christmas tree from Chicago Museum of Science, circa 1970 (Photo – Ann Hunnewell)
I was 19 years old. My mother and I drove a rented camper from Chicago to western Massachusetts for the holidays to see my Grandmother (her mother) and my Uncle Joe (mom’s half-brother).
By Madison Premo
I remember the drive because I had driven as far as Ohio for school twice before and had a lead foot. We were racing against a storm and I drove amazingly fast while mother dear napped. The camper was packed with presents, suitcases, and our toy apricot poodle, Bijou. It was a nine-hour drive with no stops. Step-father flew in two days later. He knew better.
At the time, Gran lived in a trailer park near the city mall. Walking distance to JC Penney, Dunkin Donuts and the Huke Lau Hawaiian Restaurant. (Mother lived for their spare ribs.) Gran had a corner lot with a street light. Prime real estate for her two-bedroom trailer/home with the extended pushed out living room.
When we arrived, Uncle Joe, who was in his thirties and lived with her, was having a Christmas party for his group of friends. One of these guys was a resident at the local hospital. Dark curling hair, bright blue eyes and handsome. He smiled at me a lot and made very nice conversation. Until my uncle Joe said with a stern voice, staring the man down with daggers in his eyes: “That’s my niece.” That as they say, was that.
After that, for me, the party was dull. But the trailer was warm and cozy. Gran had a live tree lit with colored twinkling lights and heaped with piles of gifts underneath. She was a typical five by five Polish Grandmother: short and curled grey hair (which was styled weekly), five feet wide and about five feet tall and always had on an apron. She was recently retired from Spaulding Sporting Goods. The city revolved around the factory. She started at my age hand stitching baseballs like all the young girls did. Having done all the cooking for the party, her little kitchen was hot and stuffy and she needed some air.
Her brown and gold German Shepherd dog, Barney, bounced up when he saw her heading for the door. She opened the wood door and the steam had frosted over the glass storm door that lead to the outside world. She opened the storm door and took a deep breath. Barney shot out into the newly fallen snow and bounced like Tigger. He also looked for a place to do his business. I stepped up behind Gran and rested my hands on her tired shoulders. The cool crisp night air woke me up from the sleepy warmth of the crowded living room. I could smell the Oil of Olay face cream Gran used every day, the pink Aqua Net hair spray and cabbage. She had made stuffed cabbage for the party in a baking pan that could double as a wash tub for the dog.
As we stood silently and watched Barney leap then disappear in the snow banks, it started to snow. Big, soft, silent flakes that made the world softer and quieter. They fell like fluffy stars through the bright street light. It seemed less harsh and more glittery. Cars had not driven by in a while and the street was a blanket of white. Gone were the usual black icy tire tracks.
“Isn’t that beautiful?” She said softly. The party of loud young men behind us seemed to fade like someone had turned the volume down on an old radio. Our breath added to the steam of the storm glass.
“It is.” I said and slipped my arms around her, my chin on her shoulder. The world stopped just for us. I am sure there were a hundred things to be said but, in this moment, silence spoke more than words ever could. I loved her dearly and she knew it. She loved me too.
“Merry Christmas, Gran.” I whispered.
“Merry Christmas, baby.” she whispered back and patted my hands.
Our long moment of holiday perfection was broken when Barney emerged from a bank, shook off snow and vaulted to the door. He was done. He was cold. He was wet. Gran opened the door and he bolted inside, leaping into Joe’s lap as he sat in the big easy chair.
We watched, we laughed. I handed Joe a towel and the world fell back into sharp focus.
Gran has been gone for many years, but every Christmas, I remember her and that moment.
Merry Christmas.
Madison Premo is a resident of Altadena. She enjoys writing and believes in every day magic.
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