A Christmas Toast......

May your home be filled to busting with good food, good drink, and good friends -- as I remember the house on Avenue Z always being on holidays.

A full-up house at Christmas......

I remember that Christmas when a young cousin arrived at 212 on Christmas Day, took one look, and proclaimed the house to be full-up.

That was Christmas on Avenue Z. A house that was full-up with people, presents, food, love, laughter, and -- shhh! -- probably an argument or two.... (But, we won't speak of that today.) ;)

Only my grandparents and my maiden aunt lived in the house in Pratt City, so -- after Christmas morning and all that goes with it was over at our respective homes, the onslauaght would begin as each family loaded into cars and headed to Avenue Z.

I can still see MomP's roomy living room, so filled with wrapped presents that people had to perch on sofas and chairs around the edges of that wonderfully mysterious pile of glittering gifts -- not to be distributed and opened until after dinner.

How hard it was for us cousins to wait! We would tiptoe through the piles of presents looking for gifts with our names on them. And, of course, we would each keep a count to make sure things were even. This would last until an uncle or aunt would yell at us to "get away from the presents."

After a dinner that required two rooms of tables to accommodate the people and food, and after the dishes were done -- which seemed to take f-o-r-e-v-e-r because those were the days when dishwashers were humans -- after everything was done, finally, we could all gather for the gift giving.

Each year a different uncle, aunt, or older cousin was chosen to call out the names and hand out the gifts. And then the party would begin. Ohhs, ahhs, paper, boxes, ribbon......everywhere. And you know that the piles of discarded wrappings were the best gift possible for the baby cousins. We sometimes wrapped and decorated them -- whenever they -- or the aunts to whom they belonged -- would allow it.

Oh, the presents! So many presents. But, as many as each of us received, the pile of gifts stacked around MomP & Gindaddy would end up being almost as tall as they were. ....Or so it seemed to me at the time. You see, where the rest of us drew names for gift exchanging, everyone gave MomP & Gindaddy something. It was almost, almost, as much fun watching the grandparents opening their gifts as opening our own.

And then there was the tree. I actually don't remember the tree being exceptional -- it was the gifts under the tree that appealed to the greedy kid that was moi. As I remember, some years the tree was table sized, and some years it was a tall, skinny model. I guess a large tree wouldn't have fit considering the space needed for all the people and presents.

There was one mysterious aspect to the tree at 212. Each year five envelopes would be nestled in its branches -- one for each aunt, uncle (and their spouses) -- addressed in my grandfather's handwriting. Those envelopes contained money and in my mind's eye, I can still see the looks exchanged by my mom & dad, the warm smiles they shared as they opened their card.

As the day grew long, and the sun set, and the baby cousins began to nod, one by one the aunts and uncles loaded up to head home. I'm not sure how or when it started, but there were always at least half-dozen of us cousins choosing to stay behind at 212.

Cots and rollaway beds were set up as we girl cousins fed, bathed, and got our new dolls ready for bed, and the boy cousins played with various boy stuff. Turkey sandwiches, ambrosia, and several choices of cakes were sitting around for the taking.

So ended a Christmas Day on Avenue Z, with the house still pretty much full-up with love, laughter, and lots of cousins with brand-spanking new toys.

Dress Codes

A few years ago one of the ladies I taught with mentioned that she had bought her oldest daughter a robe to wear over her pjs. Her daughter was coming into her teen years and my co-worker thought it appropriate for her daughter to wear a robe whenever she was lounging around the house -- even though my co-worker had three daughters (no sons). She was brought up to cover up when her body started developing.

I didn't see anything odd about her buying the robe. I understood. I was raised the same way -- only I had two brothers. I don't remember any explanation, but somehow I knew to put on my robe when I got out of bed. Just as I knew to lock the bathroom door.

I guess this incident has stayed in my memory because, that day, as we talked, both of us realized that there was no reason for the robe thing. My daughter was never made to wear a robe -- I had to actually pay her to wear dresses for a while, and then she would wear jeans under her dress. ....I guess that's one of the things that can happen to a girl with three brothers.

Yes, my daughter was raised very differently than me in many ways. To this day I still throw on a robe -- even when I'm home alone, and......I always lock the bathroom door -- I can't do anything if I don't.

I think this training started long before I lived in my mama's house. I had a grandfather who stated he'd rather see any of his four daughters with a broken leg than on a dance floor. And I had a maiden aunt who would walk by me (standing there in my mini skirt), give me one of those looks, sniff, and say, "If God had wanted people to wear a skirt that short, He'd have made knees pretty."

Yep. I think my modesty is the results of generations of men and women.

"To look sharp...."

"To feel sharp..." ....and, I can't remember how the rest of that catchy little ditty goes.

Does anyone remember the Friday night fights sponsored by Gillette? I can remember my mom hurrying my dad, brothers, and me out the door of our house on Fridays so we could get to my grandmom's in time for the Friday night fights. My uncle would always come with his three daughters, and another uncle could be counted on to amble in somtime after the first round -- usually three sheets to the wind (or so I remember hearing).

As the men sat in the living room in front of the tv alternately cheering and booing, my mom, grandmom, and whatever aunts were there, would traipse from the kitchen to the middle room that was MomP's bedroom -- but also contained the sewing machine and several comfy chairs. I remember many glasses of sweet tea (in warm weather), and cups of hot tea (in cooler weather) being involved -- as well as tea cakes (for the ladies) and some kind of yummy cake for everyone. No beer. No alcohol. Uh uh! Not at 212. I don't even remember Cokes in the fridge -- even though there was plenty of syrupy sweet Kool Aid.

Many a Friday night was spent that way. Which seems odd to me now. Odd because 212 was a tightly run organization with MomP as its CEO and Gindaddy as -- er -- as.... well, he was important even though I can't think of his job description. We cousins were never allowed to run, fight -- no roughhousing of any kind. And you could bet your bottom dollar you'd never hear cuss words like "lie", "darn", "shut up" inside the house on Avenue Z . On every other day of the week everyone was expected to be quite mannerly, yet -- on Friday nights -- it was fine to sit around and watch men beat the hell out of each other.

I never realized the contradiction in this until I was telling A how warm and fuzzy I felt whenever I heard the theme song for the Friday night fights, "To look sharp...." She laughed and said, "Mom, how could you feel warm and fuzzy about a boxing match?" ....Good question.

Girlfriends of the Southern Variety

Growing up in Pratt City, I was surrounded by women who had, and were themselves, friends -- women friends -- girl friends. In my mother's South it wasn't considered odd, unusual, or perverted for adult women to be friends -- even life-long friends.

My mother had a close circle of girlfriends, some were life-long friends, some were friendships made along the way. I remember these ladies gathering together to cook, eat, laugh, ....whatever it was they did. They took the time -- made the effort -- to come together and stay current, refresh their caring for each other. Their laughter, their gasps of mock-scandalization would bring smiles to the faces of their children who were playing together just out of ear shot (or so we thought). As one of the children, I remember us making up then presenting plays to our mothers, choreographing variety shows, telling ghost stories, sharing valued individual skills with each other -- such as how to pop gum, burp, fart....

Remembering back, my mom's friends were always there for her, and she for them. Even though my mom had three sisters, to whom she was close, she always had her friends. When she was sick, these friends were on the front lines for her. Being young myself at the time, I didn't realize how important they were to her. I'm just learning some of the stories as, for some reason, several of these women are, one by one, finding their way back into my life. It comforts me to know how surrounded by love she was.

My mom's friends had families of their own, but one of my aunts had a friend who was single. I don't know if it's true or something I romanticized, but I have the notion that her fiancee came to a tragic end in WWII. Whatever the reason, this friend was a huge support to my aunt -- just as I imagine my aunt was to her. I remember this friend as being competent in her job, and dedicated to her invalid mom. I also remember her being around a lot helping my aunt. She loved my cousins like they were her own. And I felt her concern and affection for me all my life.

What's the status of female friendship in today's world I wonder? Speaking for myself, it's lacking. I know it's my own fault; I'm just not sure if it's because I've not put forth the effort or because it's just the way I'm wired. Whatever the reason, I miss it -- this female friendship and support. The fleeting slices of it I have, make me want more. Do you think that I've put that desire to the universe and that's why all these wonderful women from my past are finding me? Whatever the reason, I pray that I can contiue to nurture the new/old friendships being (re)gifted to me.

I am so glad that my daughter has taken, and is still taking the time and energy to care for her girl friends. As wonderful and valuable as men are, there are some things that only another woman can understand.