Posted by: jiminmontana | March 31, 2011

Old Crow Christmas

My fifth Christmas was gonna be great.  I could tell because Mama had been working toward it for over a month.  I clearly recall that she made a fabric calendar by hand — every day that got closer, a little fabric pocket was opened up and a new surprise was revealed — counting down the days.

A secret surprise was waiting for my older brother and me.  The evening before, I had heard a little noise from inside a medium-sized cardboard box.  It had to be some kind of critter, but I dutifully agreed to ignore it and let the suspense build.  The morning came, and I awoke with a snap and ran out to the tree.  Our tradition was to have about 5 or 6 “lesser gifts” under the tree, unwrapped, for us to kick-start the day.  Plus, it kept us boys from under Mom’s feet while she did all the work.

.

.

.

.

.

After doing all the hard chores for the meal to come, I knew that this Christmas was gonna be a big deal because Mom was wearing a new dress of Royal Stewart plaid — and it really looked sharp on her. 

Plus, she had gold jewelry that she never wore otherwise.  And then it started to snow!  Not a big deal in Montana, but in the South, snow on Christmas is an uncommon and well-received treat.  All that was keeping us from moving forward with everything was for Grandma to arrive.

.

.

.

.

.

.

But Grandma never made it to the door.

When her huge green station wagon pulled up, the alarm was sounded that she had come around to the back of the house like she should.  Being five years of age, all I clearly recall was that she slipped and disappeared behind the driver’s door.   Being a widow for years, the Christmas Blues took a toll on her at the holidays and she “hit the sauce” pretty hard from Thanksgiving until February.  Mix those Blues together with Old Crow whiskey and some fresh snow on the pavement and you have an ugly cocktail of festive woe.  Whereas other breakfasts at Christmas would hear some slurred speech and weeping, Gramma knocked herself out that morning when her head hit the asphalt.  She quit breathing and turned grey.

.

.

.

.

Even forty years later, when EVER I see snowflakes melting on brown hair, I go back to that expectant Christmas morning when my Dad was giving his mother mouth-to-mouth resuscitation in the back drive.

.

Old Crow —    four-out-of-five grandmas swear by it!

.

.

Advertisements

Responses

  1. […] Old Crow Christmas […]


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Categories

%d bloggers like this: