“When we recall Christmas past, we usually find that the simplest things - not the great occasions - give off the greatest glow of happiness.”
With just a few weeks left of 2021, it seems like I am spending more time looking back than forward. Perhaps the most unique thing about these reminisces is the feeling of wonder, rather than melancholy that surrounds them. For the first time in forever, I feel the occasional sense of anticipation that surrounded the Holidays as a child. That pure excitement not clouded by adulthood and responsibilities.
Memories like driving out to the Maslow farm to drop off Christmas presents. Mrs. Maslow was our babysitter during Wednesday morning golf games, Friday night Football and weeklong parent trips. Closer to a Grandmother than a nanny, I named my first child Cecilia in her honor. I can recall Christmas Eve's with her and husband Leo. Him playing the accordion. Her sitting beside him on the sofa by the stairs. Then, after he was injured by a bull attack, him lying in a hospital bed down in their living. And then he was gone.
Still we visited, long after the time for babysitting was over. Every Christmas she would bake dozens of pans of cinnamon rolls for her family. We were gifted two pans for our large family. Sweet sticky deliciousness, dripping with sugary icing and sugar sprinkles. One pan was always sprinkled red and the other green. She lived to be 83 and made those roll right through her last Christmas.
After she was gone, I continued to bake cinnamon rolls on Christmas Eve. With three kids under the age of five, I started a tradition that, thirty some years later, my own children now follow, as well. Traditions begun out of love and carried forward through the years.
