The Christmas Corsage

      Our house is decorated inside and out during Christmas time.  My heart is full of joy when I open the storage boxes and see my old familiar decorations just waiting to be loved and cherished.  There are so many ornaments on our Christmas tree that have special meaning because wherever we go, we purchase an ornament from that location.  A red lobster from Maine, bear paw from Yosemite, cable car from San Fransisco…you get the picture. But, there is one decoration on the tree that is above the rest, a simple silk Christmas corsage with Poinsettia flowers and a candy cane.

     For as long as I can remember, my Daddy always loved to decorate for Christmas.   Not until I was grown with a family of my own, did he show me a silk, red Poinsettia corsage  that lay on one of the Christmas tree branches. He told me that my mother was in the hospital her last Christmas and one of the nurses had brought her the corsage and laid it on her pillow, as a token of the season.  She died that January, exactly one month after Christmas and from that time on, my Dad would place the corsage on the tree in her memory.

     I’m not sure why he never shared that story before then.  As was his way, he held things in, especially about my mother.  Because my mother died so young, only thirty-three years old, his love and grief mingled too close to his heart, he feared the emotions that threatened to break him. He could little afford to let his guard down with two young children to raise alone.

     After my dad passed away, my brother and I divided his ornaments between us, and I received the corsage.  Every year as I place it on our tree, I whisper my mother’s name, inviting her to be with us and know that she is not forgotten. I feel her spirit and I know she longs to be with us, too.

     A simple red corsage laid among the baubles and bells was a generous act of kindness that carried a mother’s love all these years later.  My heart is full as I whisper “Merry Christmas Mama,” and her presence fills me for yet another year.

Martha Margaretha

Growing up, everything I knew about beauty I learned from my Grandma.  She was also my source of information on becoming a woman, wife, and mother.  Because my mother was deceased, I had no one to teach me the basics except Grandma and sometimes my Dad, which as you might expect, was not always on point.

My Grandma was raised on a dirt farm in Kansas.  They were very poor and she grew up working hard and only completing the 3rd grade.  Martha Margaretha, (her given name) although coming from humble beginnings, always wanted to look her best.  It was very important to her.

Grandma was a wonderfully accomplished seamstress and made all of her clothes, even slips, bathrobes, and nightgowns.  She also made all of my clothes until I was old enough to sew for myself.  She made my Barbies the most fabulous ensembles!  I distinctly remember Barbie having a dress out of the same fabric as Grandmas, and even a fully lined coat, complete with bound buttonholes.  Barbie never lacked for functional yet stylish outfits and neither did I.  Grandma had an eye for pattern, texture, design and she could easily visualize how our dresses would turn out while working tirelessly to make it come together.

Martha had two main rules on beauty:  Always wear lipstick and always wear earbobs or ear screws, as she called them.  In my Grandma’s bedroom, on her dresser, was a tray that held her cherished personal items.  There was a comb, brush and mirror set that I always remember her using, and she had the most fabulous face powder in a box.  I think it was Coty Airspun loose face powder or maybe Lady Esther, I’m not sure.  But, what I am sure of is the sweet fragrance and the way my Grandma’s face felt so soft when I hugged her or kissed her.  She always smelled of this face powder and I think to this day I would know it if I were lucky enough to breathe in that precious scent.  The fluffy, round puff sat on top of this all important powder and next to it was her lipstick.

The dresser top was balanced with a simple jewelry box.  The kind that opened up and the top folded back revealing a bottom section.  Grandma had a large collection of earbobs, necklaces, and broaches, most of which, came from us, for Christmas or birthdays.  She also had a small little Cameo that she pinned on for special occasions.  I would always ask to look through her jewelry box and try on these simple, yet oh so glamorous pieces.  Grandma truly believed in accessories!

With her beautiful silver gray hair, smart clothing, ear screws and lipstick, Martha always looked ‘put together’.  No matter how poor you are, you can be clean and neat...a Martha mantra for sure.  Everywhere she went, she would be complimented on her neat appearance, even winning Valentine Queen at her nursing home.  Grandma lived well into her 101st year on this earth.  I remember once while visiting her in ‘the home’, someone gave her a compliment, which made her proud, yet shy.  After they left, she turned to me and said, “It’s almost a curse to be so beautiful”, then she laughed and patted my hand.

Yes, Grandma, it is.  I know even now, as she sits playing Canasta in heaven, she’s looking all done up…lipstick, ear screws and that wonderful face powder.  Most of you that know me, know I usually adhere to Grandma’s two main beauty rules:  lipstick and earbobs!  Martha was true to herself and lived her life by her own rules, that’s for sure.  As CoCo Chanel once said, “Beauty begins the moment you decide to be yourself.”

I think Grandma knew that too.

“Why are you writing about this after all these years?”  “Isn’t it time to let it go and move on with your life?”  These are the thoughts and questions that others ask when “it” hasn’t happened to them. Don’t worry for me, that I am mired in depression just because I speak of unspeakable things.  I’m okay…truly.

I may write of memories faded or worse, never made.  I may allude to sad times or lonely situations, but only because it was my reality, as bleak as it may seem.  I’m not lonely now or sad or swimming in negativity.   In fact, quite the opposite.  I’m okay…really.

I don’t have a monopoly on losing a parent at an early age.  There are many of us who faced childhood with a hole in our hearts and for many different reasons.  We may still need to talk about it.  Some may need to hear about it, just to know they will heal.  We’re okay…seriously.

However, just because you didn’t experience it doesn’t make it any less real.  Just because such honesty makes you uncomfortable doesn’t mean our honesty should not be expressed.  No one makes it out of this world alive.  No one escapes their time on earth without some type of pain or sadness.  No one.
Into every life a little rain must fall;  sometimes it’s a tsunami and sometimes it’s a steady, slow soak.  We can become okay, even joyful.  We can feel heart-overflowing gratitude.  There’s always a rainbow somewhere.  Don’t worry about me….I’m okay….really.

I’ve never known or remember experiencing a holiday with my mother.  I’ve never stood next to her in the kitchen, peeling potatoes or making a pie.

I’ve never sat next to her at a Thanksgiving dinner or sat on the floor going through albums of photographs.

I’ve never held her hand as we bowed our heads in prayer.

Too many “I’ve never”, not enough memories.