Nineteen Years and Five Months

I've waited nineteen years and five months for the day to come when my great-niece would need all the things I'd stored away for her since the day she was born.  She's very special to me.  She's in my heart.  First of all because she was named after me.  And maybe living close to her all these years has made our bond even stronger.  When she was just a toddler, learning to talk, she would walk up to people and pull on their dress or pants leg, or whatever she could get her hands on.  With very dramatic hand gestures and a loud voice she would say, "Hey! Hey!"  And when she had their full attention she would hold her chubby little hands out in exclamation and say, "My Aunt Margie couldn't have babies so my mama and daddy had me and gave me to her!"  It would always bring a smile to whoever she was talking to and it would make my heart feel like it was bursting with pride.  I love her with a love that no one could possibly imagine.  I get mother's day cards, I get visits for no reason except to spend time with me.  I get surprise phone calls.  I've seen her go through some rough times in her life and she came out on the other side even stronger and with an even bigger smile.  Being a Christian girl has helped her achieve that strength and I'm proud of her faith. I'm proud of who she has become. She's determined, she's strong willed and she's independent.  And she loves me.

So this is what I've been waiting for.  For the day she'd call me and say, "Hey!  I'm ready to go through all that stuff you've been saving for me.  I'm moving to my own apartment."  The day is here.  The call from her came last Saturday.  I was nervous as I got dressed to go meet her at the lake house.  A part of me didn't want to let go of the "things" I'd stored away because I knew it meant she was growing up.  Maybe she wouldn't need me anymore.  Maybe I wouldn't see her as often.  But when she came flying down the driveway and came to a screeching halt, jumped out of the car and came running to me with a hug, I knew I'd be okay. I knew she and I would always be okay together.

We went through my jewelry.  She picked out all sorts of things that she could wear to work.  And then she picked up a very special silver ring.  She put it on her middle finger and told me she thought it was pretty.  I smiled.  It belonged to my mother, her great-grandmother.  I wanted her to have it and I wanted her to enjoy it and wear it.  Mama would have wanted her to have it.  I wish she could have been there with us.  So we placed it in a box for her to take. 

Then, we dug deeper in the big walk in closet and, together, we pulled out her hope chest.  The wooden chest smelled of cedar when we opened it.  It, too, belonged to my mother and daddy, her great-grandparents.  We found dolls from mama's collection, we found a Dresden-heart quilt that mama had made almost 20 years ago after daddy died.  We found crystal candle sticks and recipe books.  Best of all, we found a letter that I had written to her when she turned 13.  It was a letter about a hope chest.  It told her about my hopes for her, my dreams for her.  When we read it together, I cried. All were things that had been placed in the chest with her in mind.  She was now old enough to need them and to want them.  And she would take care of them and appreciate them.  I was happy about that.

Our fun continued in the attic.  We found baking dishes and china and pottery. We found plate racks and a wooden quilt rack she could use to display her great-grandmother's quilt.  I laughed at the odd things that she wanted.  She found an old toaster oven and when she spotted it she said, "Hey!  Does this thing work?"  I told her it did.  I had bought a new one of a different color to match the kitchen.  I told her it was ugly and she said she didn't care.  As long as it worked!  I love that about her.  She's exactly what you see.  No airs about her.  Just pure honesty when she opens her mouth.

So, now my girl is growing up.  There's joy in that realization.  There's sadness because she's not little any more.  She's going to make mistakes. She's going to endure happiness and sadness.  She's going to achieve great things and sometimes she might even fail.  But I'll be right there.  She's the closest thing I'll ever have to a daughter and I love her for that.  She's mine and that's something no one can take away from me.  Ever.

A Come As You Are Christmas

Christmas in our family has always been very traditional.  Twelve layer chocolate cake, chicken and dressing, greens and corn bread, spiral cut ham.  My entire life, Christmas Eve was spent at mama and daddy's house.  They passed away and things changed.  The food stayed the same but things changed.  It just never was the same again without mama and daddy.  My sister quickly stepped up and started having Christmas at her house and for many years now it's been a new tradition to spend Christmas Eve with her and her family.  It's probably my husband's most favorite night of the year.  He loves going to her house and we love being there together. 

I've always wanted to do something fun at our house but could never quite come up with a good idea.  Then, this past Christmas it hit me.  "Let's do a Come as You are Christmas Breakfast!" When I told my husband, he said, "Now you know that no one is going to drive out here in the country with their pajamas on and no make up.  As a matter of fact, I'll bet you that no one will do that..."  Well, the bet was on and I emailed all the ladies in my family and secretly told them what he'd said.  I knew they wouldn't let me down and sure enough, Christmas Eve morning they arrived with pajamas on, rollers in their hair and no makeup.  As a matter of fact, even all the men wore their pajamas!  Sweetie was the ONLY one that didn't have his pajamas on!  I could collect on his bet!

And what fun we had!  We ate a wonderful homemade country breakfast, complete with rotel and cream cheese grits, biscuits, smoked sausage, hash brown casserole and lots of other breakfast goodies.  Then, we had the "Jammie Awards".  You know, like the Grammy Awards, but without the famous Red Carpet.  Each girl that showed up in her pajamas received a special award, had to give their award winning speech and received a little gift. 

In addition to going to sister's house, it was apparent we had started a new Christmas tradition and I'll be counting the days until we can do it again next Christmas.  Have you ever had something make you happy on the inside?  This was one of those times for me and every time I look at our picture, I smile again.  The older I get, the more fun life is thanks to my crazy family!

The Prayer Spoon

Something about getting older and wiser makes me do strange things.  I'm more sentimental. I like things that have a memory attached to them.  I'm simplifying my life. It's become a goal of mine.  On the road to simplification (is that a word?) I'm becoming more attached to simple things and less attached to impressing someone or trying to be somone I'm not.  I like baking cakes in mama's old cake pan.  I like opening my closet door and touching my daddy's tattered red and black checkered housecoat.  He's been gone 19 years but if I hold it close enough, I can still smell him.  I love sitting on the floor and looking through a steamer trunk of old family photographs. 

So when a brand new wooden spoon arrived in the mail from my niece in Ohio, I held it close and thought of her.  She had sent a note saying, "When you use your wooden spoon, please pray for your family in Ohio."  That seemed like an odd request.  Of course, knowing her, it wasn't odd at all.  She said it and she meant it.  I proudly put it in the big glass cookie jar on my kitchen counter so everyone could see it.  The jar holds old wooden spoons of all shapes and sizes.  I even have one my sister bought for me when she visited our niece a couple of years ago.  It's called a right-handed tasting spoon.  I love using it when I'm stirring a sauce of some sort. 

Several days after the special spoon arrived, I decided to make my homemade spaghetti sauce.  When it came time to start stirring, I reached for a wooden spoon and there it was, the Prayer Spoon.  It was new and unstained and I almost thought of not using it so it would stay beautiful and clean.  But then I thought about what she had said in the note, "When you use your wooden spoon, please pray for your family in Ohio."  So I pulled it out and started stirring the fragrant red sauce.  It was smooth and it felt good in my hand.  That's a sure sign of a good wooden spoon. And then it happened.  I closed my eyes and I could see her and her sweet smile and I started praying while I stirred.  It was a very peaceful time for me, nothing that anyone looking would have even noticed.  I prayed and I thanked God for her.  For placing her in my life even though she's many miles away.  Unconditional love.  That's what I think when I think of her.  She's blessed with it.  I know so very few people that have it and she's full of it.

I've seen prayer quilts and been in a prayer circle and I've heard of prayer shawls but never have I heard or read about a Prayer Spoon.  Oh, I'm sure I could search the internet and there would be one out there in the world but none would be as special as this particular wooden spoon.  It's such a simple thing and, once again, it created something that I treasure,  something that holds a wonderful memory for me.  And I've used it many times since and each time I say a prayer for my family in Ohio.  God bless the simple things in my life like that wooden spoon.  I pray that He keeps me grounded and I know He had a part in sending that spoon my way as a reminder.