Reminiscences

A column in our paper today by Col. (Ret.) Bob Simpson sparked many memories of Christmases past. It's beautiful, if you have not read it. The main memory he wrote about was the one year when he, as a child, got up in the night with his older brother to peek at their Christmas candy in shoe boxes under the tree--and how they were happy with little things like candy and fruit--and later on books, and eventually his own children got presents much more elaborate.
Which sparked a conversation at our table tonight about our own reminiscences. Mine include throwing sticks into massive pecan trees in my grandmother's front yard, and doing the same up the street at my great aunt's house. Stick after thrown stick, to yield what seemed only about six pecans. Then my mother and her mother and aunt and other relatives would sit around, cracking those pecans and catching up on all the news, which of course was gossip.
As a child, this stick-throwing was a rather enjoyable task but as I grew older, it seemed lame and old-fashioned; and of course now it's come full circle to this: "I wish we still did those things, and with those people, and I wish my grandmother could have lived forever."
Michael remembers when, especially at Christmas, his Aunt Catherine baked the cakes that come in three layers. Her speciality was caramel, that thick, gooey, sugary-sweet caramel (my grandmother made them too); but he said Catherine would cut each layer in two, to make six layers, and therefore the caramel was even more gooey and abundant.
Funny. I don't remember when I got my first bicycle or my first record player or my first doll, but I do remember throwing sticks up at trees, as we squinted at the sun.