On Christmas Memories

I haven't celebrated Christmas in over four years. 

I bake the obligatory food and goodies.  I buy gifts for the kids I know and miss my old friends. 

I try not to fight with the ex. 

This year, I've got a little grand baby. 

She's a six month old redhead, with curly hair and beautiful blue-green mood eyes.

She likes hanging out in the kitchen.

Her mother says she only eats real food at my house.

I don't know about that.

One day, they dropped the two month old darling off so I could babysit and that little kid started sniffing in the air when I started baking cookies.  She likes the smell of vanilla.

She also likes homemade candles scented with lavender and roses. 

She really likes rose petals. 

It's so cute.  The moment she comes into the house her little mouth starts smacking like she's ready to eat.

So....

every week, the little sweetie gets to try a new flavor.  She's had apples, peaches, peas, yams and bananas.  Tomorrow she's going to try pears.

These aren't baby foods. Canned baby food is for dogs.

Grand babies get fresh veggies, cooked and ground up in the food processor.

She'll eat homemade food (except yams)....she does a full body spasm when confronted with yams. 

She likes to cook with me.  I give her a plastic spoon and let her pretend to cook.  She has a lot of fun with that. 

So, this year I'm doing what my mother did and hang out in the kitchen. 

My mother made candy every year.  I used to do that, too... until I quit having to entertain an army.  When my in-laws stopped talking to me, I no longer had to service their hefty appetites. 

But now, I have a little one who likes to sniff food. 

Today, I made three kinds of fudge, toffee, and peanut brittle.  I showed the kids how to make candy without a thermometer, gave them a sugar high, and wore them out on chocolate. 

Now, I'm going to try to pawn a good chunck of this candy on the next person who rings my doorbell. 

I just want the house to smell sweet for the grand baby and give her some happy memories. 

Ah, memories...they're killing me today. 

The last Christmas my mother was alive, she made peanut brittle.  She slipped and her arm fell in the vat of hot caramel.  I watched in horror as she pulled off her skin trying to get unstuck. 

I hate the sight and smell of peanut brittle.  It reminds me of a horror movie.

Thankfully, I'm snowed in and can't visit my family in the nearby town where I grew up to deliver the obligatory goodies (some for them and some for the dogs).  I hate going back home, to my uncle's house for Christmas....it reminds me of Christmas in high school with my old flame sipping hot chocolate and me pretending to slip on the ice so I could grab him.

I hate the memories evoked by the smell of hot chocolate. 

Visiting my uncle only makes it worse.  His wife always invokes my old flame's name.  His sister, my other auntie, isn't helping with her bull about his former FB friendship.  I want to run away from home now....

Well...

I don't hate my old flame.  It's just that I miss being around someone who understands me.  I miss hanging around the only person in the world who made silence comfortable.  If I could find another person with whom silence is acceptable, comfortable and not a cue to find something stupid to talk about, I'm snagging him. 

I haven't found that in 25 years.  He taught me that was possible.  He doesn't get my politics (freedom and responsiblity), my antics (kill 'em with humor), my sense of humor (parched) or my sense of loyalty (friends to the end even if we're both a little unwell).  I'm sorry..

Sigh...Christmas is about reflection.  Why in the heck do I do these things that bring back guilty memories of making my old flame haul ten pounds of flour and five pounds of sugar to my house so I can bake him cookies?   He didn't have to do that...but I'm a girl...he's old fashioned...he followed me to the store and wouldn't let me carry the bags five miles in the snow to get them home. 

He wasn't wearing a coat, gloves, or a scarf.  I felt so bad, I bought him a scarf and gloves.  My Grandfather found a black coat for him.  He wore it even though it looked like something a geezer would wear.

Twenty some years later, I still feel guilty about that.  The cookies weren't that good because I was distracted making them.  I don't let guys carry my bags anymore.  I don't let them open doors for me.  I don't let them hold my coat.  Let me tell you, I'd suck as a politican because the first thing political advisors tell you is to act like you're too important to carry your purse, open your doors and hold your own coat.  What wussies!!

Where was I...oh, reflection...

My first reflection is that I truly hate Facebook, Classmates.com, and Reunion.com.  Without those stupid sites, he would never have found me to remind me what love and friendship feels like.  I'd have been happy in my dead, loveless marriage with my own bedroom, frilly bed coverings and rose scented candles.  He'd have just been a distant memory...but...alas...it's too freakin' late to stop that mind-screw.
Upon further reflection, I realize that I want the house to smell like Christmas for the grand baby.  Smells can be powerful triggers of past memories.  I want the house to smell like Christmas.  I want her and the other kiddos to feel loved.  I want them to remember being loved when they smell apple pie, chocolate, sugar cookies or homemade bread.

That's why I'm acting like my mother. 

The problem is that I'm trying not to cry.  Things are hurtful and confusing.  It's cold in the middle of the night.  This is an awkward place to be....marital limbo. 

I did learn one important thing yesterday. 

I had to go to the store to buy the ingredients for Christmas dinner.  There was this hot guy in the grocery store who was interested in the contents of my cart. 

He followed me in several isles.

He smiled. 

I smiled. 

After awhile his presence made me uncomfortable.   I began putting in the ingredients for my famous homemade puppy treats; whole wheat flour, corn meal, baby food carrots, baby food beef, calf liver, chicken liver....

I didn't see too much of him after that. 

Interesting...

Now, ladies, you know how to get rid of those men who try to pick you up at the grocery store....

pick up a pound or two of calf liver.

It works like a charm.   

I swear, the grocery store is certainly the one place where one can find the most hungry men... if you have the food in your card that makes them wretch and puke, they'll go away. 

Merry Christmas,

S.