Last night, Evie and I played a game where I made a video of her and then she watched it on the camera. Here she demonstrates her charms and her good listening skills!
Friday, December 18, 2009
Memories of snow
Snow, and the Christmas season in general, evokes memories of my childhood and beyond, which have all come flooding out lately. It started with the Nutcracker ballet, which we went to here in London for the second year in a row. As soon as the music started, I found myself teary eyed.
All of my main snow memories are from Cleveland, OH where we went almost every year to spend Christmas with Virginia and Grandpa and Aunt Ann (known, in more recent years, as The Shug). This trip was definitely one of the highlights of each year and, as children, we would bounce around whatever large vehicle Dad was driving in our excitement to get there, looking forward to the snow and, most of all, to seeing our adoring and adored grandparents.
It's significant to note that I lost both of my grandparents this year. Although their deaths were sad, they were not tragic. They both lived to be old and they loved each other with a passion that most people don't experience. For me, what has been the hardest part about their dying is all of the memories that I have of them, all of the things that they did that impacted me throughout my life and how I wish I could tell them every time I think about something wonderful that I connect to them.
Growing up, the Nutcracker was a tradition...and it's something that I have tried, as an adult, to keep as a Christmas tradition in our new, small family. Each Christmas, Virginia (and Grandpa? My memory on this is not clear) would take us, dressed in our Christmas finest, to the ballet. She was the ballet doctor for the performance that we attended (and probably countless others) and after we sat, transfixed, through the performance, we would sometimes go backstage with her to see how injured dancers were doing. I used to try to walk like a dancer, in hopes that people would think that I was a professional dancer in training (laughable when you know me as the clumsy, uncoordinated person that I am).
Another tradition was a visit to Dunkin' Donuts, which we did not have in the South. We would pile into Virginia's car, which had a heater, but not a radio, and she would treat us to as many doughnuts as we wanted. In my mind, I ate dozens and dozens each time we went, but probably it just felt that way because I knew I could have if I had wanted to. Unfortunately this tradition ended when Kate and I both came down with some terrible stomach bug, which we forever connected with doughnuts.
Gingersnaps and Ginger ale and tea and a beautiful Gingerbread house which we balanced on our heads with Virginia, to measure our ever increasing heights are also things that I think of when it snows. A warm wood stove and competing to stand directly in front of it after coming in from hours of playing in the snow; pewter mugs and Christmas decorations on the mantle piece; the citrusy smell of oranges burning on top of the wood stove; driving through the Metropark's giant Christmas card display; sledding down a big, snow covered hill; the thrill of feeding the Canada geese; my beloved grandparents: this is what snow means to me.
This morning we woke up to snow on the ground in London. I fed Evie breakfast and while I was washing dishes, she wandered out of the room and into our sunroom, where where I found her staring, in astonishment and glee, at the snow in our back garden. It took great effort to coax her away from the window so that I could put her into her snowsuit and let her experience the snow first hand. Her innocent excitement is a new memory of snow for me to file away. I know that she, too, will have happy memories of her grandparents and her siblings, whenever they come along, and I hope that some of them involve adventures in the snow.
All of my main snow memories are from Cleveland, OH where we went almost every year to spend Christmas with Virginia and Grandpa and Aunt Ann (known, in more recent years, as The Shug). This trip was definitely one of the highlights of each year and, as children, we would bounce around whatever large vehicle Dad was driving in our excitement to get there, looking forward to the snow and, most of all, to seeing our adoring and adored grandparents.
It's significant to note that I lost both of my grandparents this year. Although their deaths were sad, they were not tragic. They both lived to be old and they loved each other with a passion that most people don't experience. For me, what has been the hardest part about their dying is all of the memories that I have of them, all of the things that they did that impacted me throughout my life and how I wish I could tell them every time I think about something wonderful that I connect to them.
Growing up, the Nutcracker was a tradition...and it's something that I have tried, as an adult, to keep as a Christmas tradition in our new, small family. Each Christmas, Virginia (and Grandpa? My memory on this is not clear) would take us, dressed in our Christmas finest, to the ballet. She was the ballet doctor for the performance that we attended (and probably countless others) and after we sat, transfixed, through the performance, we would sometimes go backstage with her to see how injured dancers were doing. I used to try to walk like a dancer, in hopes that people would think that I was a professional dancer in training (laughable when you know me as the clumsy, uncoordinated person that I am).
Another tradition was a visit to Dunkin' Donuts, which we did not have in the South. We would pile into Virginia's car, which had a heater, but not a radio, and she would treat us to as many doughnuts as we wanted. In my mind, I ate dozens and dozens each time we went, but probably it just felt that way because I knew I could have if I had wanted to. Unfortunately this tradition ended when Kate and I both came down with some terrible stomach bug, which we forever connected with doughnuts.
Gingersnaps and Ginger ale and tea and a beautiful Gingerbread house which we balanced on our heads with Virginia, to measure our ever increasing heights are also things that I think of when it snows. A warm wood stove and competing to stand directly in front of it after coming in from hours of playing in the snow; pewter mugs and Christmas decorations on the mantle piece; the citrusy smell of oranges burning on top of the wood stove; driving through the Metropark's giant Christmas card display; sledding down a big, snow covered hill; the thrill of feeding the Canada geese; my beloved grandparents: this is what snow means to me.
This morning we woke up to snow on the ground in London. I fed Evie breakfast and while I was washing dishes, she wandered out of the room and into our sunroom, where where I found her staring, in astonishment and glee, at the snow in our back garden. It took great effort to coax her away from the window so that I could put her into her snowsuit and let her experience the snow first hand. Her innocent excitement is a new memory of snow for me to file away. I know that she, too, will have happy memories of her grandparents and her siblings, whenever they come along, and I hope that some of them involve adventures in the snow.
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