This time of year brings with it certain smells that only happen when the air turns cold. With winter comes the promise of a couple things, snow being one, Christmas of course being another. In my family it is tradition that everyone gathers at Grandma’s house on Christmas day, with dozens of people crammed in her kitchen that was only made to seat six at a maximum, if you moved the table. It has always been that way for as long as I can remember. The memories I have of those visits run the gambit from good to bad, however the good definitely outweighs the bad. The winter chill in the air and Christmas’ approach brings all of those moments to the surface, where they seem frozen in time in my mind.
When I was very small, the family did a secret Santa so everyone received a gift from a family member that may not of done so on their own. It was nice and always fun to see just who you would get. No matter what name you drew, everyone always got a second gift for Grandma and from her. This went on for most of my childhood, until the number of visitors began to become unreliable. One of the last years that the family did the organized gift exchange has always stuck out very strongly in my mind. One of my Aunts pulled me aside after the gifts had all been handed out, away from all the noise and laughter to give me another gift. I remember her telling me that she couldn’t afford to get all the kids a gift but that she wanted to give me something for Christmas. Even at nine or ten years old I thought this gift was the most thoughtful gesture. I still have that purple Esmeralda diary; it sits proudly on my book shelf.
As I grew older, Christmas became less about gifts and more about being there with the family. It made Grandma happy for us all to be there, it made my mother happy for us to put on a smile and go even if we were not feeling the Christmas spirit right at that moment. So I went, year after year. Even when I moved a state away from her and married my husband, we still piled in the truck with our dogs and went to Grandma’s for Christmas. Things changed however and now I am sixteen hours of drive time from anyone blood related to me. Last year was the first year I missed a Christmas in that house, missing all the smells, laughter, and watching Grandma open all her presents from the family. I am not ashamed to say that it affected me more than I ever would have dreamed. This year will be my second missed year in all my twenty-four years of life. I envy the family close enough to go that just do not for whatever reason.
Now I push forward to create new traditions and memories with my husband and our fur-kids. In starting my own yearly traditions I will always be reminded of Grandma’s house. As I make the dishes that she taught me how to cook, with recipes written in her handwriting, filling my kitchen with smells that bring me right back to her table… I can only feel love, and that she is much closer to me than those sixteen hours. I bring those memories right in to my own kitchen, bringing her to me the only way that I can.