rancherwriterpoet

Poetry, musings, reflections, life

Archive for the tag “Grandparents”

Christmas wasn’t going to be like all our Christmases before

For seventy-eight years, I have been celebrating Christmas. At my age, don’t expect me to remember all of them, but one I especially remember is Christmas, 1948. I was nine years old and we were living in tough times, not that I knew anything about that. It was said that Santa Claus was not likely to visit our house that year. Because of the divorce of my adoptive parents and the illness of my grandfather, my mother and I lived with my grandparents.
My grandfather, Papa, was suffering with cancer and many believed would not live until Christmas. My mother told me he had a disease that was infectious. That was to keep me from bothering him. I wasn’t allowed to go in his room; but I did stand at the door and talk to him. I remember Papa smiling at me between his coughing and wheezing. I always thought he would get well. Once, during that Christmas time, I sneaked into his bedroom, even though it was off-limits to me, and I told him Merry Christmas. He motioned for me to lean over closely, so I could hear him better. He told me that better times were coming, both for him and for me. I wasn’t sure what he meant, after all, I was only nine.

Now, in hindsight, I know that Christmas 1948 was a memorable one for me. I’m sure you have an unforgettable Christmas in your memory. Christmases are supposed to be a joyous time, a time for family to come together and share the joys, to celebrate the birth of Christ, and to remember the good things. Sometimes it doesn’t quite turn out that way, but then again…

You See… I Remember…

My folks didn’t want to celebrate Christmas… in nineteen forty-eight.
We had no money and my grandpa Papa, was so sick… he didn’t even know the date.
My Granny Mama wasn’t feeling well…, seems like Christmas might have to wait.
And if old Santa even came at all…, he’d probably show up late.

No…, Christmas wasn’t going to be like all our Christmases before.

No one much wanted … to decorate that year
Wasn’t going be like Christmas… wasn’t much Christmas cheer.
Then my Mama set about… to proudly trim a little tree
Thankful for the neighbor who cut and gave it to us free.

Mama wrapped her little tree… with gold and silver rope.
placed her special angel on the top!… she said, “to give us hope”,
like the angel from the Bible announcing Jesus’ birth
telling all the shepherds of Good News that’s come to earth.

I remember helping Mama… decorate our little Christmas tree.
And I remember especially…, all those joys it brought to me.
It had loads of shiny lights… that glimmered all around.
And Papa’s homemade ornaments… that almost touched the ground.

Our decorated Christmas tree… stood in its usual place.
Over by the window…‘cause we didn’t have much space
We had no chimney in our home… that Santa could come down
So I hung my cotton stocking by the door… just in case he came around.

But Christmas wasn’t going to be like all our Christmases before

I remember Mama… made her breakfast Mac and cheese
It was her specialty… we all were very pleased
I remember Papa peeking out his bedroom door
And saying maybe… Maybe Christmas might be like before

But, No, this Christmas wasn’t meant to be… like all our Christmases before

I remember Mickey Mouse… and the watch I got that year
And my cotton stocking… packed with Christmas cheer,
crammed with apples and oranges and walnuts and stuff
And good hard ribbon candy, plenty sticky… sure enough.

It must have been old Santa… who left those gifts for me,
‘cause no one had no money… and stuff like that’s not free.
But sometimes… like at Christmas… miracles do take place
And seems like miracles always put a smile on a little boy’s face.

But Christmas ‘forty-eight wasn’t like all our Christmases before.

So many years have passed since that Christmas ‘forty eight
But Miracles still happen…and that’s cause to celebrate
I remember Mama… telling… the wonder of Jesus’ birth
And Papa listening closely, his last few days on earth.

Ahhh.. Christmas ‘Forty-Eight…it came and went so quick
And Papa kept us laughing just like he wasn’t sick
Then February nineteen forty-nine, his cancer staked its claim
Christmases… ever after… would never be the same.

No…, Christmas wasn’t going to be like all our Christmases before.

Just a side note, one Christmas when our family celebrated together, I bought some cotton stockings like my Granny Mama used to wear, and I fixed each grandchild a stocking with the same fruits and nuts and stuff I got when I was a child. They thought it was funny… I smiled at the memory.
You see… I Remember… Christmas ‘forty-eight…

I’m pretty sure I know what my Papa meant when he said better times are coming.

Thank you for allowing me to share some of my thoughts with you.
From me and all my family,
I hope you have a very miraculously, and memorable Christmas.

 

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Fashionable

Yesterday, the “Rancherette” and the “Rancherwriterpoet” went to get their monthly hairdo. The 2nd Tuesday of every month we make this trip. She goes to the hair stylist, while I go to the barber. Please understand, the same person who does the actual work on each of us is one and the same. Angie has been cutting my hair for over five years and the “Rancherette’s” for much longer.

While the “Rancherette” gets her hair fixed, mine only gets cut. It is a scheduled part of our routine. Since I get mine cut first, we go in separate vehicles, because I do not want to wait for two hours when she sits in the chair. They have no TV in the waiting room and even if they did, it would probably be tuned to the “View” or WE network or, even worse, Oprah. Not that I have anything against Oprah, but I would rather watch ESPN and you know I am not about to change any channels in a beauty shop. But, like I said they do not have a TV.

The only magazines on the table are those that are more directed towards the female gender. I think they share magazines with my doctor. People Magazine, Cosmopolitan, Vogue, you know the type.  I do not know why they can’t ever have a Sports Illustrated, or NFL magazine even a Super Hero comic book would be nice. But then again, all the hair stylists/barbers in this establishment are female. Most of their customers are female. I do not have a problem with that.

The problem I do have is that I always get the feeling the women are talking about me. They snicker and talk in low tones. They share pictures with each other on their “smart” phones and not with me. I have no idea what they are sharing. Not that I am curious or anything. Occasionally someone will laugh out loud. I smile as though I know what they are talking about, but …

I never see anyone pointing at me, but I notice that there are eyes sometimes looking in my direction. Talk about being paranoid.  Of course, I could always go to a “real” barbershop. But, then, I do like my haircuts. And you know us old folks, we don’t like change.

Well, this trip to the hair stylist/barber was a very interesting time. We are in the middle of spring break and the teenage grandson is spending time with the “Rancherette” (AKA, Memaw) and me. He knew in advance that we would be going for our monthly “do” so he would be going with us. Later, he would go shopping with his “Memaw” for school clothes.

I was to go first, as I always do, then she would follow with Kyle riding with her. Here is where things began to get interesting. He asked the “Rancherette” (AKA, Memaw) if he could get a ‘mullet’. Her reply?  Not in Memaw’s world. She said she was not going to be responsible for sending him home looking like that. She reminded him that his mother would likely not approve of that, either. So, the “Rancherette” (AKA Memaw), texts the Mom. Her reply?  “not no, but **** NO!” (You don’t know, it could mean heck.)  No, he cannot have a ‘mullet’! End of story”.  Not quite.

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He asks, “Memaw, can I borrow your phone?” “What for?” “To call my mom.” “Why?” “To ask her if I can get a ‘mullet’.” The “Rancherette” (AKA Memaw) relents, being the kind and gracious Memaw any kid would be proud to have. He calls his Mom. When he hangs up, he says, “Mom said I could get a ‘mullet’.” Around here, we are accustomed to speaking the truth.

I mullet-cartoon-i8 asked the “Rancherette” if I could get a ‘mullet’. Her reply? Not no, but **** NO! (You don’t know, it could mean heck)

I am always interested in the hairdo the “Rancherette” gets, but me not so much.

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