Angels in the Window [Ellen Stumbo Writing Prompt: A Christmas Memory]

We are having a slightly awkward and unusual Christmas this year; many of our traditions are taking a hiatus as we empty my parents' (I still think of it as my parents' even though my Dad, Jessie’s Grumps, died 2 years ago) condominium in Montreal. My mother, while keeping her beachfront condo on the Atlantic in Florida, has moved into a seniors' residence. Last year was our first Christmas without Grumps, and by this year, we had fully expected the condo to be gone and our family to be forging new traditions. But things, as in life, did not go completely according to plan, and while my mother is delightfully ensconced in her new apartment, we are only now divvying up the significant leftovers, if they can rightfully be called that. They include a beautiful Quebecoise pine dinning table and a full kitchen complete with Cuisinart, kitchenaid mixer, and a full silver cutlery service. Too. Much. Stuff. But, as ours is all falling apart at the seams and hers has so much value—material, historical, and narrative— most of our Christmas in Montreal will be spend packing. I will say that my mother has done all the difficult work of sorting, and deserves a medal. As do my brothers, who live in Montreal and have dealt with the daily-ness of the downsizing.

So, the short part of this long story is that at home here in Ottawa we do not have a tree. It is the inherited one sitting in a box (along with the reindeer) in Montreal. We do, however have Christmas decorations and a tradition (mostly) of breaking out the Christmas music and books on December 1st. Which usually morphs into a much later date, but I am sure you all know about that kind of tradition. Last year, in preparation for our own kind of downsizing, I put all the angel ornaments that Jessie had been given over the years into one box, separate from the other ornaments. When we did get around to the music and the books, I also felt the need to add to the festiveness and brought out two extra boxes—the boughs and this box of angels.

I placed the box on Jessie’s lap and said “These are all your angels from all the different angels in your life.” And together, as a family, we unpacked them and placed them in the window:

As we were unpacking we shared the stories of their provenance—some funny, some mundane, some bittersweet. I think the first angel came from my parents' friends in Montreal, the Garners, who always have a special place for Jessie in their thoughts, at their home, and in their gifts. While we don’t see them as often as she (Jessie) and we would like, their angels grace her life, and that is gift.

There is the angel that I am sure Dan stole from some theatre group’s Christmas party, and the one that our laughing neighbours Randy and Nancy gave us. We live in an old neighbourhood, one where the lots are tiny and the houses cheek by jowl, so you really have to have good neighbours. Randy and Nancy were the epitome of that: Randy babysitting in emergencies and making passports with Jessie and traveling by spinning the globe in the living room, Nancy by giving me great educational advice and adapted cooking books and connections to teachers and mentors (she was a special ed teacher). They no longer live next door and we miss them.

There is the angel that I, with forethought, remembered to keep. It was the year that Jessie made and hand-painted angels for gifts. Usually, by the time any Christmas craft was done we had run out of any extras to keep. This one, though, I put aside specifically as a keeper. The bright colours and half moon smile are so typical of her drawings in grade 1.

Then, there is the final angel. The one I take out last, as it was a gift to Jessie from my Aunt Kathy, just a few years before she died. Kathy was just 10 years older than me, so a cross between a sister and a very special aunt. She loved me, and Jessie (and Dan) unconditionally, and you can never replace that kind of love. So this angel is my bittersweet ornament, a gentle prick of regret and deep-rooted love. And I place it with great care on the window, and hug Jessie, and remind her that she is indeed loved.

This she knows. And feels. And she grows silent as she contemplates the window. And then the tears fall. Because I have told her that these are her angels and when she moves away this box of angels will go with her and grace and bless her own home at Christmas. “It is sad to grow up,” she says. “I know I want to grow up and move away, I’m excited to grow up and move away. But sometimes I just want to be a kid again and have nothing change. Its HARD growing up!” She smiles and cries. I hug her. She holds her arm out, beckoning Dan. We have our family hug, blessed by bittersweet angels.

inspired by Ellen Stumbo {a writing prompt} a christmas memory.

Grumps, or Why I Haven't Blogged in a While

The week of Jessie’s birthday (January 19th) my Dad—Jessie’s Grumps—died. The road we all travelled these last few weeks was filled with laughter and grief, as all our comings and goings are, I think.

Since much of what is important in life is about relationship, I offer here glimpses of Jessie’s relationship with Grumps. Some photos of them together, and a final photo of all of us (my mom, Jessie, Grumps and me) with the quilt we made for him from his old golf pants. A treasured quilt, a treasured man.

As we prepared for the “celebration” of his life, Jessie asked if she could speak at the gathering. This is what she said:

Grumps was my grandfather. To me he was the best reader. He loved rhyming books and when I was little he read to me. He also loved to correct my grammar. But most of all I loved his heart. He also had a great sense of humour. Grumps taught me to breathe and to have an open mind. I loved his smile. And when he smiled, you knew that he had the capacity for joy. You might not know this about Grumps, but he had 2 stomachs. One for regular food, and one for sweets like caramel ice cream, carrot cake, almond crescents, dove bars, and crème caramel. If his “regular” stomach was full, there was room in that second stomach for anything sweet. And the more in that second stomach the better. He gave me this gift of a second stomach. So I say have some ice cream to celebrate Grumps!

And that's just what we all did!

A Short Bit About Being Alive, or Life, Death, Buses

Fall has set in and Jessie is fully engaged in all of her activities—including Propeller Dance, hip hop, music, drama, and teaching dance—in addition, of course, to school (where she will be doing a work placement at the Food Bank starting later this fall). She is managing her schedule incredibly well (although that’s never really been the issue, the problem is usually how I am managing it!), including learning two new bus routes so she could get herself where she needed to go independently while I was away at a 4-day retreat with a trip to Montreal tacked on to the end.

While not a novel observation by any means, the more responsibility she is given (where there are few to pick up the pieces—except all those neighbours and friends we have co-opted as back-ups and guides) the more she rises to the occasion. While I was away, Dan said she did a great job taking care of herself and supporting him in what he had to do. I know there were probably many glitches, and probably many snacks that might not make it on the nutritionist’s list; however, she not only survived, but felt a proud sense of stepping up to the next level.

This will probably be important as we head in to this fall, as I might be away at unpredictable times; my father (Jessie’s beloved Grumps of the two-stomach fame) was just diagnosed with cancer. While it was odd to go straight from a 4-day silent retreat to a meeting at the oncology department, Jessie’s response put it all into perspective for me. When I called her later that afternoon and shared the treatment plan with her, she was ecstatic. I tried to tone her excitement down a bit, not wanting her to hold on to magic cures (my Dad is, after all, 80 years old, and as I told Jessie, likely to die in her lifetime), trying to keep her focused on a reasonable reality.

“But Mom!” she said, as if I had totally missed the point, “Today he is ALIVE!!” That he is Jess. That he is.

Two-Stomach Legacy

It is my father’s 80th birthday on Wednesday and this past Sunday we all—Grumps, Grams, Jessie, Dan, I, my brother Bill and his partner Leigh-Anne, and my other brother John—drove to Chateau Montebello on the Ottawa River for its renowned brunch.

Chateau Montebello used to be known as The Siegneury Club, and my father remembers when his father was a member and they would go there in the winter to skate, ski, and sled. It’s now owned by Fairmont and is an upscale yet rustic resort with biking, hiking, horseback riding, fishing, spa, and a famous Sunday brunch to die for!

We figured this would be a great way to celebrate my father’s 80th, as large and sweet brunches are his menu of choice. In fact, he shuns any foods that don’t look like they have either a) been processed or b) contain heart-stopping amounts of sugar and cream. While my father will pick at a salad or a delectable plate of steak and fresh green beans, he has been known to eat third and fourth helpings of praline ice cream with butterscotch sauce and a large side of carrot cake.

When Jessie was little, we tried to convince him that he needed to set an example and could he please eat all of his dinner before dessert, and limit his dessert to what might be considered a reasonable helping. In true paterfamilias style, he came up with his own solution to our effort to keep Jessie eating healthily. He explained to Jessie that he was unique in that he had TWO stomachs. One for regular food and one for desserts only. The dessert stomach was significantly larger than the regular stomach, hence his ability (and need) to eat just a bit of the main course, but 2 or 3 helpings of dessert.

Jessie quickly figured out that, since she was Grumps’ granddaughter, and since she had an extra chromosome and therefore had extras of everything, she also had to have at least 2 stomachs, just like him. And there began their absolutely delightful ascent into dessert heaven. “Gotta feed that extra stomach!” is the refrain at the dinner table when we visit in Montreal, and out comes a frightening array of dessert cakes, ice creams, and sauces. My father smiles sheepishly, Jessie grins full out!

Never mind that he was the top tax man in Canada and Chair of the Montreal Board of Trade in his day. His true legacy, to Jessie anyways, is his second stomach.
(in picture: Grumps, Jessie, Leigh-Anne)