Half Cent New Year's Day

Even though we put our Christmas tree up on Christmas Eve, it always came down on New Year's Day. Perhaps because the trees dried out so quickly in the hot air heat system we had, perhaps because Mom was ready to move on with life. Whatever the reason, we undecorated the tree in the morning while the parades played on the television (and I mean the black and white little square box of a thing that was often fuzzy and out of focus).

Strands of tinsel floated everywhere, and Mom did her best to vacuum up all the dead needles and tinsel and broken branches without sucking any ornaments into the canister. All the while we were cleaning up the living room and parlor, the ham was cooking in the oven. Mom always basted the outside of the bone ham shank with brown sugar, cloves, pineapple and maraschino cherries in a checkerboard pattern. The tantalizing sugary smell made your mouth water.

I loved watching the parades, hearing the marching bands, seeing the floats and balloons, watching the TV personalities explain all the work that went into the floats, all the various flowers, how long it took to put together, what drove the floats. It was fascinating. I didn't even touch my Barbie dolls while the parades were on.

By the time dinner was ready - complete with sweet potatoes and veggies and rolls and pickles and olives (black and green) and all the fixin's, Gramma and Grampa would show up in the red truck, toting more goodies including nuts and dried fruits and pies and other tempting treats.

We gathered around the huge dining room table with all the leaves and extensions added, the good turkey pattern china with the special salt and pepper shakers, the milk and creamer bowls, the real silverware, the candles, the cloth tablecloth, the folded napkins and the hand decorated place namecards.

We stood behind the chairs, held hands, and said grace - and not the mindless "God is great, God is good and we thank Him for this food." but one of my Dad's special official preacher-type prayers chock full of "thee's" and "thou's."

I always tried to sit near either Gram or Gramp. Sometimes Grampa would measure hands with me to see how much I'd grown. He would hold his hand up, the one with the short finger (he had lost the top part in a work accident), and I would hold my hand up, and he would grin and whistle and exclaim at how much I had grown. I ate it up. He would pile the food on my plate and then egg me on to eat more and more, yakking about strong bones and healthy muscles.

After we ate, the men adjourned to the living room to digest their meal while we women (and of course, as the eldest daughter, I was included) would make our way to the kitchen to address the carnage. Mom usually washed and Gram dried and we girls fed the dishpan - and in a particular order, thank you.

Glasses first, then silverware, then tea cups and saucers, then salad plates followed by dinner plates and dessert dishes and serving dishes. Last would be the pans. Always wash the least dirty items first so your dish water lasts longer. This would be at least a three sink draw. Maybe four. Sometimes we had two dish dryers whipping through towels at lightning speed, staying just a half step behind the dish washer.

At last, the counters and stove would be wiped down, the floor swept, the food tucked away in the fridge, and order regained in command central. Then and only then would we wander exhausted into the living room and join the men who were engaged in napping or light conversation. What peace reigned as we sat together, saying nothing in particular, just being together. No one felt much like doing anything.

There we stayed until darkness blotted out the windows and we had to consider maybe a bit of Jello or a small sandwich of leftovers before Gram and Gramp headed home and we made our way up to our rooms and into our flannel jammies. It was a great way to begin a year.

I miss them, my family who are no longer here to sit around the table with me. - Gram Appleby who patted her husband and affectionately called him "Hub," and Grampa Appleby who was a mechanic and worked once at the Watervliet arsenal making canons. And more recently, Dad who no longer carves the meat and relishes the dates and figs.

Now, I am the Gramma who drives over to spend the day with my sweethearts. It is just the way of life.