Tuesday, December 07, 2004
EIGHTEEN DAYS TILL CHRISTMAS....
I spent a lot of time at my grandmother Stricklett’s growing up. In my pre-school years it was for long stretches and then I began school in Blair. There was no kindergarten so at the age of five I went into first grade. Memories flood my mind at certain times of the year.
At Christmas time it was always the same. My three aunts who were still living at home, had sewing projects…knitting, etc; Aunt Mary, teaching art in a school over at Fremont usually had painting projects. One year she painted handkerchief’s…and so it went. I was always fascinated with anything that was a “project.”
I would sit at the square dining room table with the claw feet. It was oak and massive. I sat where I could have a straight view of the sewing machine that was aunt Mary’s. It was a fancy Singer that folded up in a pretty piece of furniture. The black machine part was painted in a scrolling design and the light on it was behind it. From where I sat, the light made a reflection on aunt Mary’s glasses and I could literally “see” what she was sewing on as she fed it into the pressure foot.
Grandma, aunt Mary and aunt Inabelle would discuss the things they were making and worked around any problems they may encounter. The ironing board was always up….grandma’s old treadle sewing machine faced a wall so that her back was to me. Above her sewing machine was a picture of a house with a thatched roof by the side of a road….tinfoil in the picture reflected light in the windows so that it looked real. The scene was snow covered and at night. I used to pretend I was walking towards the house and would go in for some cocoa and cookies.
When one item was finished, another was begun. Aprons were popular and every cook wore them. They made flannel night gowns for the girls in the family and pajamas for the boys. There were a lot of grandchildren so it meant a lot of cutting and sewing. I can still envision how carefully each piece was cut….how the patterns were laid out to save as much cloth as possible. They would place, remove and place again until they were satisfied there was no better way to cut. I liked the sound of the scissors as they moved around the cloth…against the wood table it sounded amplified. I dreamed of the day I would be grown up and could sew like they did.
The wrapping was as precise as the projects they made. One of the aunts would go up to the attic and find the box with all of the paper from last Christmas. The saved bows and ribbons were in another. The boxes were brought down and the paper carefully selected. As each piece came out they would comment, “this is the piece from Dorothy’s present last year….this paper is from Pearl…and so on.” Each piece was saved and rotated to someone else the following year. The paper was folded so carefully when it was put away it was in perfect condition when it was to be reused.
When gifts were opened, it was done with care. The paper must be saved. Scotch tape was used frugally so the paper wouldn’t cause too much tearing when opened. Even the children were admonished to be careful with the wrappings. I learned so many good habits at grandma’s house because she practiced the virtues of recycling before it was thought of many years later. Nothing was discarded that she could find a use for.
I remember she had an old coconut hanging on the side of the kitchen cabinet that had a face…. and the string came out of the mouth. When she opened a sugar sack or flour….anything with string, it was tied to the ball inside the coconut, to be used at a later date. My mother was much the same….we saved everything that could be used again.
It is almost time for me to perpetuate the ritual of my forbearers. Soon I will be wrapping gifts from paper on last year’s gifts. The family knows that at grandma’s house, we save the paper and ribbons. They admonish each other….“don’t tear the paper….save the ribbon…grandma will want to keep it.” They smile and look at me with teasing eyes but inside they know it is a tradition I keep. Mom used to say…”Waste not, want not.” In my heart, I honor them with the ritual. What Christmas memories do you have….and keep?
Until tomorrow,
Essentially Esther
At Christmas time it was always the same. My three aunts who were still living at home, had sewing projects…knitting, etc; Aunt Mary, teaching art in a school over at Fremont usually had painting projects. One year she painted handkerchief’s…and so it went. I was always fascinated with anything that was a “project.”
I would sit at the square dining room table with the claw feet. It was oak and massive. I sat where I could have a straight view of the sewing machine that was aunt Mary’s. It was a fancy Singer that folded up in a pretty piece of furniture. The black machine part was painted in a scrolling design and the light on it was behind it. From where I sat, the light made a reflection on aunt Mary’s glasses and I could literally “see” what she was sewing on as she fed it into the pressure foot.
Grandma, aunt Mary and aunt Inabelle would discuss the things they were making and worked around any problems they may encounter. The ironing board was always up….grandma’s old treadle sewing machine faced a wall so that her back was to me. Above her sewing machine was a picture of a house with a thatched roof by the side of a road….tinfoil in the picture reflected light in the windows so that it looked real. The scene was snow covered and at night. I used to pretend I was walking towards the house and would go in for some cocoa and cookies.
When one item was finished, another was begun. Aprons were popular and every cook wore them. They made flannel night gowns for the girls in the family and pajamas for the boys. There were a lot of grandchildren so it meant a lot of cutting and sewing. I can still envision how carefully each piece was cut….how the patterns were laid out to save as much cloth as possible. They would place, remove and place again until they were satisfied there was no better way to cut. I liked the sound of the scissors as they moved around the cloth…against the wood table it sounded amplified. I dreamed of the day I would be grown up and could sew like they did.
The wrapping was as precise as the projects they made. One of the aunts would go up to the attic and find the box with all of the paper from last Christmas. The saved bows and ribbons were in another. The boxes were brought down and the paper carefully selected. As each piece came out they would comment, “this is the piece from Dorothy’s present last year….this paper is from Pearl…and so on.” Each piece was saved and rotated to someone else the following year. The paper was folded so carefully when it was put away it was in perfect condition when it was to be reused.
When gifts were opened, it was done with care. The paper must be saved. Scotch tape was used frugally so the paper wouldn’t cause too much tearing when opened. Even the children were admonished to be careful with the wrappings. I learned so many good habits at grandma’s house because she practiced the virtues of recycling before it was thought of many years later. Nothing was discarded that she could find a use for.
I remember she had an old coconut hanging on the side of the kitchen cabinet that had a face…. and the string came out of the mouth. When she opened a sugar sack or flour….anything with string, it was tied to the ball inside the coconut, to be used at a later date. My mother was much the same….we saved everything that could be used again.
It is almost time for me to perpetuate the ritual of my forbearers. Soon I will be wrapping gifts from paper on last year’s gifts. The family knows that at grandma’s house, we save the paper and ribbons. They admonish each other….“don’t tear the paper….save the ribbon…grandma will want to keep it.” They smile and look at me with teasing eyes but inside they know it is a tradition I keep. Mom used to say…”Waste not, want not.” In my heart, I honor them with the ritual. What Christmas memories do you have….and keep?
Until tomorrow,
Essentially Esther
