October 2020
Grandma was a true matriarch.
Born in the 20s, she was ahead of her time. She knew how to command a room, tell you to be quiet, or assign you a chore.
Yet she ruled with a soft silliness to her. Christmas “programs” were mandatory.
The grandchildren would dress up in costumes and perform, Lynn and grandpa would play piano, Phil would play the flute or guitar, all while grandma’s selection of sweets would circulate the room. Russian tea cakes, krumkake, lefse (with butter and sugar on it), brownies (with walnuts in them) and See’s candy for grandpa.
She created a family of love, warmth and tradition.
The youngest child always gave the first gift on Christmas, festivities were always Christmas Eve, and the menu was always the same. Swedish meatballs, green beans, jello salad, scalloped potatoes, hot apple cider. She always assigned me to stick cloves in an orange that would bob around in the apple cider, a task that I adored.
Christmas morning, we would open gifts and lay them out on that plush blue carpet. Grandma, no matter her age, was on the floor with us, her legs in a V shape, playing with us. She would stretch to stay limber, kicking her legs over her head into the plow, or out into the splits, well into her 80s.
Our family has experienced loss we could have never imagined. The grief that lives in our hearts now peppers these wonderful, happy memories. Yet, the family that grandma created, and the traditions she invented live on.
Never in my life will there be a question of who gives the first gift at Christmas, it will always be the youngest. Apple cider must be accompanied by a juicy orange with cloves stuck into it. And every time I stretch, I will remember her limber joints, lowering her into the splits at age 80.
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