Take a Memory

December 01, 2017

Yeah, it’s the first of December.

I feel the crispness in the air. The almost, musical sound of charity bells ringing. Aisle upon aisle of holiday decorations in stores. Ugly holiday sweaters instead of cute ones. Velvety dresses and shiny shoes….

Piped-in music buzzes in my ear whether or not I make a conscious choice to listen. The calendar clogs up with reminders of time-lines. Every day I’m checking to see if there’ll be snow in case I need to wear boots.

Memories creep in. They take up space in my already bulging mind. I have presents to create (and a late birthday gift for my niece), chorale rehearsals to prepare for, packing decisions to finalize before my trip abroad. And still I have to cram in walking and swimming. Maybe a nap or two would be delightful.

I saw a candy cane this morning. It brought me to tears. It’s not funny. I was overwhelmed with sadness. Not a sad sadness, but a warm, closing-my-eyes sadness. I didn’t want the memory to disintegrate before I pulled in every fiber-optic of love I could absorb.

Harry is standing there in front of our large, fully decorated tree. He’s wearing his worn, weary looking, sheep skin moccasins, on his flat, bare feet. His hot coffee mug is close by.

I’ll always remember his white T-shirt under his double-thick, blue and black, wide-checked flannel shirt (rolled up to his elbows). He’s laughing, retelling the story (for the third time) about how he hit a deer with his car the same day he gutted his venison, near his hunting stand. He couldn’t believe the DNR allowed him to keep the road kill. “Sausage!” he laughs as he carefully opens box after box of red and white, peppermint candy canes.

He always had enough candy canes to fill almost every branch of our tree. Year after year it was the last thing he put on. He never forgot. Unfortunately, I don’t remember him ever telling the story of how he came to cherish the tradition of the candy canes. It doesn’t matter, though. It was our family tradition. He passed it on.

I understand how the holiday approaching can bring melancholy along with joy. Maybe because it’s a time of the year we spend time together uninterrupted. Special foods, candies, tastes and smells mold memories in a safe place, along with the lights framing the dark corners of winter. It’s no wonder we have triggers that make past memories leap forward.

If they do, let them have some quiet space in your memory for wallowing in them. Tears may come but not without a realization the memory is a gift. We can open it over and over.

Harry’s gone. But his love of the holidays and tradition won’t fade unless I ignore them and make them go away. Who wouldn’t greet the memories with an open heart? I love them.

The snow globes, nutcrackers, special decorations and of course, Mario Lanza singing carols. We allowed time stand still for awhile. Time to create the memory I don't want to lose.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3WClRXO2irc

We have no choice about losing a loved one. We all know of someone who is sitting and standing in a hospital room right now, worried about those they love.

Make memories people. Turn off your cell-phone, computer and television. Park the damn car. Tell a story from the past. Slow down when you eat a meal or create a meal together. (I don’t see anything wrong with eating cookie dough for dinner!)