A new year is about to begin, I’m ready for a new year. I’m ready to create some new memories. We will ring in the New Year at Disney World — what better place to be at the start of something new (it is the happiest place on Earth).
I’ve made arrangements to go to a luau on New Year’s day. Seems like the perfect combination of sensory overload to kick things off in the right direction. There will be pineapple, and fruity drinks to be sure. A pig roasted in the ground and fire dancers — and perhaps the ever-present smell of burnt hair.
Every Christmas Eve, my family and I gather at church for the candlelight service. I know that singing Silent Night by candlelight should make me all weepy — that’s not exactly the feeling I would describe that takes over my senses — not normally anyway. Instead, this night every year has horrified me to the point of near anxiety attack. You light the candles, hold them up high, walk slowly to the front door — not blowing them out until you reach the door. A disaster waiting to happen — every Christmas Eve.
My mother was a very “made up” kind of woman, in an Elizabeth Taylor kind of way. She never went to sleep without applying lipstick and apply lipstick was the first thing she did when she woke up in the morning (yes, the complete opposite of me — Three Secrets Revealed). She wore panty hose all the time — even with blue jeans. She had enough jewelry to wear a different piece with every outfit, and she loved to shop — even if it was just to look. She had a set time to get her hair done every week followed by a manicure — and she single-handedly made the hairspray business a billion dollar venture (we won’t mention global warming).
So, every year, I strategically placed myself at her side. Making sure there was an adequate amount of imaginary bubble space so that the fumes of the hairspray never came in contact with the open flame. I did very well. There were a couple of close calls over the years (one in which, yes, she ignited her own hair) but nothing that ever caused any more damage than leaving the smell of burnt hair, wafting throughout the church.
There’s a distinct weirdness when you look around for the person you are supposed to protect, and they’re gone. I’ve had that sinking feeling of panic with my kids before. When I’ve turned around at the store and they were gone. Your insides convulse, your heart practically stops, your head spins — if only for the few seconds it takes to locate them. There’s relief at the thought of not having to worry, one day. Relief that you don’t have to stand watch — I hope that doesn’t make us inherently selfish.
Isn’t it funny how smells can bring back memories? There are times I can smell my grandmother’s perfume — as if she were standing right next to me. My children have expressed to me on many occasions how they thought they had smelled their Nanny.
I’m going to miss the smell of my mother’s burnt hair this year, I’m going to miss the stress of worrying how close she is to the flame, I’m going to miss … her. But, amidst all my missing — there’s sure to be twinges of relief, perhaps that is what scares me the most.
I’ll be at the candlelight service on Christmas Eve, again this year. And there is sure to be someone who gets too close to the flame — and the smell of burnt hair will hang in the air… just long enough.
You have an amazing ability to have me laughing one minute and on the verge of tears the next. An amazing ability.
I’ll be thinking of you throughout the holidays!
I’m learning that about myself these last few months. I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be– you know. Laughter is always there to rescue us. I hope you have a great Christmas Lori! I really wish we could be at your New Year’s party– have fun (and don’t let anyone get their hair too close to the fire).
Becky, I love reading about your memories of your mother. It introduces me to a side of her I never knew and it is precious. Remember, she is very close to the flame this year…the flame of God’s love, surrounded by those she loves who went on before her. I love the comment about her making the hair spray a billion dollar industry…I hope you all purchased stock in it! Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. In the midst of your sadness over losing your mom and dad know that you have guardian angels watching over you…although you won’t be able to get away with some of the things you did when they were mere mortals here on earth! Blessings to you and yours.
Thank you Laurette. I hope you have a great Christmas!
Have a wonderful blessed Christmas, surrounded by the love of all who know you (even those of us who only know you this little way) and of your mother and father who love you still, and by God who loves you most of all. ::hugs::: Felice Navidad! 🙂
I’m so glad I know you! We’ll chat when you return. Thanks for stopping by and reading!
Okay, still crying. And laughing. I think your mother and mine were twins. Every night before bed, my mother would wrap her hair in toilet paper then spray it till there was a cloud drifting out of the bathroom. When in her late seventies, she called me once at 2am to take her to the emergency room, then made me wait while she finished putting on her makeup.
I hope that your heart can be at peace through these holidays, Becky, missing your parents but knowing that they will always be with you. Hug the memories as they come to you, then let them go before they hurt. I’m wishing you much love and joy.
Oh, and don’t do anything on your vacation that I wouldn’t do! If you drink too many of those fruity concoctions and start doing the hula, please be sure to post a picture for us on Twitpic! 😀
Thanks Dani — I will for sure get plenty of pictures to share (or pick out some that I CAN share). Thank you for your kind words — it means a lot to me.
This is beautiful Becky. I love how you tell your parents’ story. I love that you allow us to share it with you. I think Dani is right about holding the memories and then letting them go… just enough. It’s a kind of dance – the past, present and future. You’re doing it beautifully (even though I know you don’t see it that way at all.)
Hugs. (Yeah, I said it.)
Thanks J, it means the world to me that you take the time to read these. And I gladly accept all hugs…
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