I took Mom’s book, My Flint Hills Childhood, with me to the Christmas luncheon my writing group had. After we munched happily on quiche, little sandwiches, salad, and assorted yummy desserts, we started sharing Christmas stories from our younger days.
I opened Mom’s memoir and read Cranberries, Popcorn And Silver Stars to the group. Sitting next to me, Ophelia indicated that she had something to say. She explained that when her granddaughter asked her about early Christmases, she said she really didn’t remember them. Then, with a tear running down her cheek, she said, “but your mother’s story made me remember.”
In particular, she remembered saving the string from feed sacks and rolling it into a ball to save. Then she remembered using that string to thread popcorn on for garlanding the Christmas tree. It also came back to her about her father going out to cut down a tree for their holiday.
These memories of my 82-year-old friend and fellow writer paralleled the experiences of my mother who was born in 1924. Even though one lived in Kansas and one in South Carolina, they shared similar Christmas customs back in those simpler times. It was a special moment.