My favorite holiday memories
Dec. 17th, 2009 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wook77Someone on the flist asked for favorite holiday memories and I started to type this up as a comment there when I realized it was getting long. Thus, I'm making it into a post, instead. My favorite holiday memories all blur into one giant lump of memories as my birthday is in October, quickly followed by Thanksgiving in November, Christmas in December and Orthodox Christmas in January. They all revolve around my grandfather.
When I was a little girl, I worshiped my grandfather. We called him Bubby or Bubbup, a German form of endearment that his parents had used when they lived in Germany/Austro-Hungary. My grandfather was first-generation American and a very sedate man. He had a thousand and one odd mannerisms, at least to my way of little girl mind.
What're you doing, Bubby? We'd ask as he napped on the recliner. He'd respond I'm checking my eyelids for pinholes. and we'd all giggle. He had a witty comeback for all of us.
By the time I was old enough to start remembering, he was already slipping into Alzheimer's and dementia. His mind started regressing when we lost my Nana (I was about 3). One of the things he would never forget were birthdays. Every year, on my birthday, he would send me a card and twenty bucks. Considering that he'd been a mechanic for Greyhound, that was a huge amount of money. He always drove a Ford and is probably spinning circles in his grave that I drive a Japanese sports car. He'd sometimes come up and tinker on my mum's 67 Mercury Cougar. I remember sitting on the dirt next to the car as he'd poke his head under the hood. Sometimes, he'd ask me to hand him something and boy howdy was that hammer heavy when you're a teeny girl of four.
The four of us siblings always got him a Hickory Farms assortment, a bag of salted peanuts, a set of pjs and a pair of slippers for Christmas.
When I was four, we developed a tradition that continued until I was 12. You see, I'd discovered my love of pumpkin pie by then. In the middle of the night, I snuck out of my bedroom and carefully pulled the pie down onto the kitchen floor with me. I used my fingers and scooped all the pie filling that my little tumbly could hold. In the middle of my midnight foray, Bubby caught me. Thinking I'd be in an enormous amount of trouble, I waited for him to go get my mum and I'd get sent to my room. Heck, I might even miss out on sitting next to Bubby at Thanksgiving dinner the next day (this was the ultimate reward and treat. You had to be good for MONTHS to get to sit next to Bubby).
Instead, my Bubby walked to the silverware drawer, pulled out two spoons and handed me one without saying a word. We made our way through that entire pie that night and then he carried me to my bed and tucked me in. I know that he had to have talked to my mum about where the pie went because I was never punished and my mum never reacted. The pie crust was filled with whipped cream.
When Christmas rolled around, I snuck out once more to get the pumpkin pie. There were two pies, after all. When I got to the kitchen, Bubby sat at the table with one of them, two spoons at the ready. We sat there and ate all that pie filling (and left the crust) once more. We never really talked during these moments throughout the years that the tradition continued. I remember mock spoon wars, fighting over one certain piece. Sometimes, Bubby would make the spoons dance. Sometimes, he'd fall asleep. Without fail, we'd always leave the pie crust. Eventually, I got too big for him to carry. Eventually, he slipped into dementia and the midnight pie forays stopped.
Eventually, he called me by my mother's name and called my mum "Snacky", his nickname for my Nana.
My Bubby died January 2nd, 1993. He was 86 years old.
I still don't eat the pie crust.
When I was a little girl, I worshiped my grandfather. We called him Bubby or Bubbup, a German form of endearment that his parents had used when they lived in Germany/Austro-Hungary. My grandfather was first-generation American and a very sedate man. He had a thousand and one odd mannerisms, at least to my way of little girl mind.
What're you doing, Bubby? We'd ask as he napped on the recliner. He'd respond I'm checking my eyelids for pinholes. and we'd all giggle. He had a witty comeback for all of us.
By the time I was old enough to start remembering, he was already slipping into Alzheimer's and dementia. His mind started regressing when we lost my Nana (I was about 3). One of the things he would never forget were birthdays. Every year, on my birthday, he would send me a card and twenty bucks. Considering that he'd been a mechanic for Greyhound, that was a huge amount of money. He always drove a Ford and is probably spinning circles in his grave that I drive a Japanese sports car. He'd sometimes come up and tinker on my mum's 67 Mercury Cougar. I remember sitting on the dirt next to the car as he'd poke his head under the hood. Sometimes, he'd ask me to hand him something and boy howdy was that hammer heavy when you're a teeny girl of four.
The four of us siblings always got him a Hickory Farms assortment, a bag of salted peanuts, a set of pjs and a pair of slippers for Christmas.
When I was four, we developed a tradition that continued until I was 12. You see, I'd discovered my love of pumpkin pie by then. In the middle of the night, I snuck out of my bedroom and carefully pulled the pie down onto the kitchen floor with me. I used my fingers and scooped all the pie filling that my little tumbly could hold. In the middle of my midnight foray, Bubby caught me. Thinking I'd be in an enormous amount of trouble, I waited for him to go get my mum and I'd get sent to my room. Heck, I might even miss out on sitting next to Bubby at Thanksgiving dinner the next day (this was the ultimate reward and treat. You had to be good for MONTHS to get to sit next to Bubby).
Instead, my Bubby walked to the silverware drawer, pulled out two spoons and handed me one without saying a word. We made our way through that entire pie that night and then he carried me to my bed and tucked me in. I know that he had to have talked to my mum about where the pie went because I was never punished and my mum never reacted. The pie crust was filled with whipped cream.
When Christmas rolled around, I snuck out once more to get the pumpkin pie. There were two pies, after all. When I got to the kitchen, Bubby sat at the table with one of them, two spoons at the ready. We sat there and ate all that pie filling (and left the crust) once more. We never really talked during these moments throughout the years that the tradition continued. I remember mock spoon wars, fighting over one certain piece. Sometimes, Bubby would make the spoons dance. Sometimes, he'd fall asleep. Without fail, we'd always leave the pie crust. Eventually, I got too big for him to carry. Eventually, he slipped into dementia and the midnight pie forays stopped.
Eventually, he called me by my mother's name and called my mum "Snacky", his nickname for my Nana.
My Bubby died January 2nd, 1993. He was 86 years old.
I still don't eat the pie crust.
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no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 04:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 04:45 am (UTC)He was the one person that always listened and always accepted me no matter how weird or crazy or anything I was. There was never any judgment from him. That was so freaking huge for me.
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Date: 2009-12-18 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 04:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 04:51 am (UTC)I am sitting here with tears streaming down my face. The good kind but tears nonetheless. Your grandfather sounds like a wonderful man and it brings me joy to know that you had such wonderful moments with him. Next time I have pumpkin pie (one of my favourites as well), I'll spare a thought for him.
Thanks again for sharing. ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 05:02 am (UTC)A lot of my holiday memories aren't pleasant. But I try to remember the good ones or, at least, the funny ones.
For example, we had train sets. There was this giant platform my dad built for my mum so that the Christmas tree would be in the center and the train would go around the outside of the treeskirt. It had mountains and fake grass and train stations and little people on it.
And every year, without fail, our dog, Brambles, would take a giant shit on that platform on Christmas Eve. My parents would have to clean it up and stuff just so we could open up presents. God, it's freaking hilarious now that I'm older. It got to the point that my parents would laugh until they cried because it was EVERY year. Brambles would never shit in the house other than Christmas Eve and on that platform.
My grandfather was AWESOME. My mum had a different childhood experience with him because he worked so much and he missed out on so much of her childhood. I think he realized what he'd missed with my mum and made up for it with us kids. He lived about 3.5 hours away from us and we'd always drive out to get him and then drive back. Spending time with Bubby was a huge special treat. None of us misbehaved before a holiday just so we could spend the time with him.
♥ to you, too. I'm honored that you'll think of my Bubby. I'll have to scan in the photos of him so you can see him.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 05:14 am (UTC)Holding on to the good and funny is a wonderful thing and sometimes I need reminding to do that. I'm usually really good at it but the holidays are a totally different ball game for me.
Your train set sounds awesome! And that is hilarious about your dog. It's like his own doling out of justice or something. I can just imagine it, year and year.
Your story reminded me that one year my brother and I got a train set for Christmas. We built this huge elaborate train track on the dining room table. My mum was not impressed and I recall being punished for it. But, I also recall giggling with my brother as we figured it out.
I'm so happy you had that opportunity to spend such quality time with your Bubby. He truly does sound wonderful. I'd love to see the snaps when you get a chance.
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Date: 2009-12-20 04:14 am (UTC)The holidays are such a stressful time so I can totes see that.
He really did hate that platform or something. It was so funny. My mum used to laugh until she cried every year.
Your mum sounds like a right twat, tbh. My mum was so impressed when my brother and sisters and I got the trains out and built up a set on the dining room table. We ate around the train, the one year. She was very good about that stuff. My dad, on the other hand, got roaring drunk and went off somewhere.
My Bubby was brilliant <3. I'm looking for the pix this weekend so I can post them!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 05:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-20 04:17 am (UTC)There was this one time that he was helping my older sister learn to drive and omg. My older sister was driving on the wrong side of the road and he was just doing this calm "flapping" gesture to get her to go to the other side. She, of course, didn't pick up on it and then when she snapped at him WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? he told her that he hadn't wanted to panic her but she was driving on the wrong side of the road. He then taught her how to check her oil and fluids, how to change a tire and how to set up roadflares.
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Date: 2009-12-18 05:37 am (UTC)Quite possibly one of the most beautiful stories of family and tradition. Lovely.
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Date: 2009-12-20 04:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 07:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-20 04:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 10:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-20 04:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 11:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-20 04:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 12:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-20 04:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 02:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-20 04:23 am (UTC)It hurt when he called me by my Mum's name. It really hurt my mum when he called my mum by my grandmother's name. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't all smooth sailing and awesome memories. But, in the end, the awesome memories are the ones that I think about often. I barely ever think about the weird ones or the rest.
Definitely cherish the time you have left. Dementia can be a real bitch. Bubby only really had the dementia for a few years so I didn't have much to do with that. Unfortunately, he broke his hip and then quickly deteriorated after that.
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Date: 2009-12-18 09:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-20 04:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-19 02:25 am (UTC)*hugs*
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Date: 2009-12-20 04:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-20 06:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-20 08:18 am (UTC)That's such a great memory. Really. Really touching and I love the story behind the pumpkin pie and all. Your grandfather sounds absolutely remarkable. Thank you for sharing.