an old tradition

I revisited my roots during my aunt’s recent visit. Physically, she looks like her mother, my grandmother, but oh she is so much more beautiful. Since we both resemble Grandma, I hope when I am my aunt’s age that I look as half as good as she does.
Plus, she maintains impeccable, country manners. That first evening, as I bustled about making supper she came to the kitchen and asked, “What can I do to help?” Shades of years of training in a culture where visiting women (and their daughters) made their way to the kitchen, looked around at the work to do, grabbed a broom, a sponge or towel and began sweeping, wiping up and drying off as they chatted. Our Japanese exchange student grew up with similar rules. Her first night, like my aunt, she walked in the kitchen, took the spatula out of my hand and took over stirring the pan of hot vegetables. Evidently, her Momma-San and Grandmother had brought her up with my father’s mandate, “Go out and help your grandmother” just before, he and my brothers would go to join the grandpa doing the evening chores or summer harvesting.
I’m the grandmother now and my aunt was the visitor and the old ways prevailed. Between visits with her brother, while I worked half a day through the week and then entertained grandchildren during an unexpected weekend visit, she silently left me neatly stacked piles of folded clothes, freshly swept floors, clean counters and dishes.
Given a choice of activities one evening she gently urged me to get on with the task of sorting pictures for a collage to put in my dad’s room at the nursing home. As we sorted and studied pictures, my aunt and I relaxed and recalled the people and farming life we used to know. She identified all but one person in the 1940’s picture of the family gathering at my great-grandparent’s 50 wedding anniversary. I identified all the babies in the 30-year-old picture of her parents seated with their great-grandchildren.
As we looked through the albums, we remembered shared life events of the past and people we used to know. I chose pictures and tucked them into the prepared photo collage. We finished in time to put away the albums before visiting grandchildren came in the door with their usual, unbridled energy.
I had been waiting for that energy. I use it every opportunity I can to teach them to use it to help their grandmother. I pulled out the table top tree along with cans and bags of Christmas ornaments. For the next hour or so, while their great-aunt watched, they grabbed and snatched up ornaments to liberally decorate the half-sized tree.
They wanted to put all the presents I had wrapped, but not decorated, under the tree. I agreed, but asked that first the eldest add stick-on ribbons and bows and handed the middle one fancy name stickers and asked her to re-label the gifts. At another time, all three sat down and added address labels and stamps to my stack of addressed Christmas cards. While they helped me, I slipped back to the bedroom and wrapped a few more presents for grandchildren which they decorated and labeled.
With so many young ones helping out and a visiting aunt to encourage me, it’s beginning to feel a lot like the Christmases I remember from the past.
(Joan Hershberger is a reporter at the News-Times.)