New Year's Eve

I have never found New Year’s Eve to be a particularly memorable holiday, but there is one New Year’s Eve celebration with Emma that I remember vividly. If I were at home, I’d dig through our photos to find a picture of the celebration that I am thinking of. But I don’t really need it. The image that would be reflected in the photo is etched clearly in my mind.

Emma is 3. She is wearing her favorite hand-me-down flannel nightgown. It is white with light blue flowers sprinkled over it. It has three buttons at the neck and a ruffle across the chest and bottom. The elastic cuffs also end in a ruffle, accentuating those precious little cookie hands. Emma’s hair still has the fine, soft quality of baby hair. It is just about shoulder length and still has the baby curl that some told me would disappear the first time I cut it. She has bangs which draw your eyes to her pretty blue ones that match the flowers on her nightgown. The photo is taken minutes before we will celebrate the New Year and her face is full of anticipation and excitement. She looks wide awake, which is the first clue that this is not your standard midnight celebration of the New Year.

We were staying with Peter’s parents, as were Peter’s sister, her husband and their two kids. I believe it was my bright idea to stage a kids' celebration of the New Year at 8 pm. I thought that if we played it right they would feel satisfied that they had had the New Year’s Eve experience and would be content to go off to bed. We spent the day preparing for the celebration with Emma and her two cousins. We made a trip to the grocery store to buy sparkling cider for the New Year’s toast. We decorated paper plates and stapled two together, filling the center with dried beans to make noisemakers. We made hats out of construction paper that we had decorated generously. After dinner the kids got bathed and donned their pajamas and nightgowns.  As 8 pm approached, we popped open the cider and filled the glasses, donned our paper hats and grabbed our noisemakers. Then the countdown began. Ten, nine, eight – the feeling of excitement was palpable. Seven, six, five – the kids eyes were darting around the room, trying to capture every aspect of the excitement that would be unleashed in just a few more seconds. Four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!!!

We shook our noisemakers wildly, smooched our loved ones, and drank our cider. Then came the comment from my 7 year old niece which accurately describes the feeling I have had at exactly 12:05 am every New Year’s eve that I have bothered to stay up. “Was that it?” she said. "Somehow I thought it would be more exciting."

Danny Boy

Emma was a very active performer, so the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas was filled with concerts and/or performances from the time she joined the Fairfield County Children’s Choir in 5th grade.  Sarah is also a performer, so between the two girls, we would have a concert or performance every weekend and usually one weeknight, as well.  Part of surviving our first holiday season without Emma was enduring the painful reminders cast by the concerts we attended this year, as well as the pain of the concerts we no longer needed to attend.

Maybe it was this season of music that sparked this memory of Peter’s.

He was in the kitchen, correcting papers or doing some other schoolwork, when he was distracted by music coming from our living room. It was an a cappella version of Danny Boy. He immediately recognized the song, it was my father’s favorite, but he did not recognize the artist. Peter had always thought the song a little sappy and never quite understood what there was about it that could turn a gruff Irishman to mush.  But this rendition was striking a chord in him. The single voice was incredibly pure and plaintive. It was a voice he had not heard before and he needed to identify it. He called into the next room, “What’s that I’m hearing?" Emma appeared around the corner. “I’m sorry. Am I bothering you?” she said. “Emma, was that you?” “Yes, Daddy, but I can stop.” “Don’t stop!” Peter said. “Emma, I didn’t know you could sing like that! Definitely keep singing!”

I don’t know if you would call it irony or coincidence or cruelty, but Danny Boy was performed by two different ensembles at Sarah’s middle school winter concert this December. Others may play it or sing it, but for us it will forever be owned by two that we have lost: my dad, who eyes welled up whenever he heard it, and Emma, who made her dad understand that for the first time.

Snowflakes

Last night I dreamed of snowflakes, but not the white, frozen, crystalline kind. I was dreaming of handcrafted snowflakes, the kind made by folding a piece of paper over, and over and over again; and then strategically cutting shapes out of it by snipping, and snipping and snipping again.

Emma went through a long snowflake phase. For many years she would spend the winter months, when we were holed up inside more than we would like to be, creating these paper gems. The more she made them, the more intricate they became. She learned that if she trimmed around the outside of her folded paper she could alter the shape of the flake. She experimented with different sizes and shapes of snips and marveled at her creation when she unfolded the paper.

Soon the plain paper flakes did not hold her attention. She took to adorning them with glitter glue pens so that they would sparkle in the light just like a real snowflake. When we were lucky enough to get real snow, she would do field research, freezing a piece of black construction paper and then going outside to try to capture individual flakes on the frozen, black surface so that she could examine them more closely. We got one snowstorm when this technique worked particularly well, and the specimens we captured inspired a whole new flurry of snowflake generation.

During Emma’s snowflake phase we would find snowflakes scattered purposefully about the house, taking the place of the little love notes she customarily left. We would find them on our pillows, our bedside tables, and at our places at the table. She would post a particularly beautiful one on the refrigerator or bulletin board. And the teachers she had during this phase got an occasional dusting of snow, as well.

When I was dreaming of these snowflakes I understood anew the fascination that they had held. Each one was, it occurred to me, a little like seeing real snow for the very first time. You never knew quite what to expect when you unfolded that paper. The artistry and individuality of the creation was a surprise even to the creator. And I suppose the dream was also a reminder of an important lesson that Emma taught me: to look at all of creation with the wonder and awe it deserves.

A Rose by Any Other Name, continued

I thought of two more nicknames that should have been on my list:
Eve
and
Evie
And thank you for the two sent in by readers:
E.J., Jr
and
VonBon

Car Ride Conversations

We had a long drive to visit Emma’s grandparents today and it reminded me of the car rides we used to take to the camp in the Adirondacks that Emma and Sarah attended and where Peter and I worked for 5 years. About halfway through our trip to camp we would pass by the town of Half Moon, New York. I just love the name of that town and I could never resist commenting on how I thought Half Moon would be the perfect place to own a horse farm. For one thing, it inspired great horse farm names. I leaned towards the name Galaxy Farms. Galaxy Farms in Half Moon, New York – it has a ring to it, right?


The conversation would inevitably wind around to me conceding that I knew that at this stage in my life, I was unlikely to establish a horse farm in Half Moon, New York or any other town for that matter. It was at this point that Emma would say, “I’ll have a farm for you, Mom. I’d love to have a farm.”


The farm of Emma’s dreams, however, was not a horse farm. Emma wanted a more well-rounded farm, a sort of Little House on the Prairie-type farm. She’d have small numbers of lots of different kinds of animals. She planned on growing a wide variety of crops, but on a scale that would probably be considered a large garden in any place more rural than the suburbs where we live.  She would have a small orchard with lots of different kinds of fruit trees and would have blueberry and raspberry plants, too.  Of course, she would make good use of everything she raised or grew. She would make homemade jams, pickle vegetables, spin yarn and weave cloth. And she promised us incredible homemade farmhouse meals when we visited.


In part to lure me into her embracing her vision of the dream farm, she also planned to have three horses on her farm. She said that one of the horses would be all mine, and even allowed me to pick out the name. I said I would name it Sylvester McMonkey McBean and call it Sly, for short. She said Peter could have his own horse, too. He specifically requested a nag, something whose highest gear would be walk. He planned on naming his Buck-buck McPhee. Emma was going to have a horse of her own that she was going to name Honey. Sarah didn’t want a horse, but Emma said she could ride Honey whenever she visited.


That farm in Half Moon will always live on in my imagination. And when I visit that farm, Emma will be always be right there, waiting for me at the farmhouse door and beckoning me inside to sample her fresh baked biscuits and homemade raspberry jam.

Christmas Traditions

I love hearing about people’s Christmas traditions. It seems each family puts their own special stamp on this holiday.

In our family, Christmas Eve is spent at Gram’s house with lots of cousins and aunts and uncles. The Christmas Eve dinner features lobster and swordfish and is a major production, especially considering that there are more than 20-25 people in attendance. Back at our house, the Christmas Eve ritual begins with the ceremonial hanging of the stockings. This event was based on the tradition in my family and is always filmed. Each member of the family dances into the living room with his/her stocking and hangs it from the hearth. Enthusiasm and dramatic flair are a must.  This is followed by the writing and the reading of the letter to Santa. Snacks are placed on the coffee table for Santa and his reindeer and then off to bed.

In the morning no one is allowed downstairs until everyone is up. Peter gets the video camera ready and then we all go down together to see what Santa has brought. Santa does some special things at our house. He always brings balloons. There are a dozen green and red balloons floating above the hearth and two giant mylar balloons, one for Emma and one for Sarah. The stockings are jam-packed and new packages have been placed under the tree. And Santa always places candy canes on the tree. He’s eaten his muffin and the snacks for the reindeer are gone. He has read the Christmas letter and always writes back, showing a special appreciation for the goodies that were left and the sentiments that have been expressed.

This year Santa clearly understood how difficult this holiday would be for us and expressed that in his note to us. He left the balloons, the candy canes were on the tree and the packages were beneath it. But this year Santa did something new; at least we think it was Santa. Our tree was sprinkled with beautiful white butterflies and Santa left three delicate purple ornaments in Emma’s stocking.  It is little things like that that helped keep Emma in our Christmas this year. And that is the best gift we could get.

The Origin of Fabulous - Christmas Edition

Thank you for keeping Emma and us in your thoughts and prayers this Christmas. Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas.

Letter to Santa

Every year our girls write a note to Santa that they place on the coffee table in our living room beside the muffins and coffee that they leave for Santa and the apples and carrots that they leave for the reindeer. They never outgrew this tradition. They did it last year when Emma was 16 and we will do it again tonight in her honor. It will be good to feel a little bit of the spirit of a girl who was never to old to enjoy the magic of Christmas.


When Emma was 9, this is the letter she wrote to Santa:


Dear Santa,
I'm terribly sorry but the only things I want for Xmas are peace, love and joy.


Love, Emma


P.S. Each reindeer gets 2 carrots and 2 apples


Santa wrote back. This is what he said:


Dear Emma,


What a wonderful wish for Christmas. That has always been my dream as well. You and I will just have to try to spread as much joy as we can. Thanks for the treats.
Love, Santa


Wishing you a Christmas full of peace, love and joy.

Pardonnez Mois

Emma started taking French in 7th grade and she was a natural. She had a great ear for languages, just as she had a great ear for music. That good ear, coupled with a lack of inhibition, meant that she soon became a fluid, if not fluent French speaker.

Emma took every opportunity to speak French, even if she had to create those opportunities. She was frequently chattering in French as she went about her business around the house and this scene played out rather frequently at dinner.

We’d all be sitting around the dinner table having a lively conversation and Emma would pipe in with an emphatic point – in French. Of course, that would bring the conversation to a screeching halt. We’d all look at her a little puzzled and one of us, usually Sarah, would say “What did you say, Emma?” Emma would then repeat what she had said a little louder and a little more slowly, but still in French.  The look of amusement would spread around the table, reaching everyone but Emma.  Then someone would say in a slow, reminding tone, “Emma, we don’t speak French.”

And this is when the smile would hit her face. “Oh yes, I forgot,” she’d say. "Quel dommage!"

A Rose by Any Other Name

I think every parent has at least one nickname for their child and we were no different. Neither of our girls are called by their given name very often.  Emma, however, has a particularly long string of nicknames that I thought I would share with you. I’ll throw in the nicknames her friends called her, too.

Some of these names will seem very strange and convoluted and you will be tempted to inquire about the story behind the name. Don’t. We wouldn’t be able to explain. The names are like a jazz riff on a melody that we love. 

So, without further ado, I bring you Emma Jane, AKA:

E.J.
Ejer
Ejer JJ
E.J. Jazzy Emm
E.J. Jehossenfeffer von Hoosey Magoosey
E.J. Jehossenfeffer
E.J. Jehossenfeff
Jeehoss
Emster
Emmie Lou
Emmie Lou-ya
Lou-ya
Lou Kazoo
Boo
Boo-ya
Emma von
Von
Christelle
Fabulous

I have a feeling that this list is incomplete, so don’t be surprised if there are further installments on this theme. And maybe you had your own special nickname for her. If so, send it in.

The Origin of Fabulous

Peaches and Cream

It’s bitter cold today and the snow is piled high outside. It is bringing back a very specific memory of Emma – not a story, just a memory of a little part of her.

Emma had the most beautiful skin. It was very fair, almost white, but was brushed with pink undertones, the definition of a peaches and cream complexion. And it was so soft. There was nothing so delightful as placing your cheek next to her soft cheek, or giving her a kiss on those soft cheeks.

I’m thinking of those cheeks because I remember what those cheeks would look like on a day like today, when she would bundle up and head outside to play with the neighbors in the snow. Her cheeks would get very red and she would get a very small, flat, raised bump under each eye, an indication that her tender skin had had enough of the frigid conditions and it was time to come in.

We’d bring her in and warm her up with some cocoa and I’d put my face next to those cheeks to be sure they were okay. And they were – still soft and sweet, but very, very cold.

Voila, My Scar

Those who know the story of Madeline, know that she had a scar from an appendectomy that she was very proud of. The Madeline doll bears that same scar. But Sarah’s Madeline doll has had an additional surgery. About 5 years ago, Madeline had a serious thinning of the fabric of her scalp. It was clear that a graft was needed. The only question was who would perform this delicate surgery.

It really didn’t take Sarah long to choose Madeline’s surgeon. Peter and I were quickly eliminated from consideration - too great a chance that we would botch it up. She could ask Pat, but that might mean handing over Madeline and maybe even being without her for a night – out of the question. Emma was the obvious choice.

Emma gladly accepted the job and took it very seriously. She combed through her fabric scraps and found some red fabric that pretty closely matched the color of Madeline’s scalp. She cut a square that was just the right size and neatly folded down the edges so that the patch wouldn’t fray. Then she stitched it to Madeline’s head with tiny, precise stitches. It was perfect.

I love to look at that patch on Madeline’s head because it tells a love story. A story of the trust one sister placed in the other.  A story of the care one sister took to do something just right because she knew how much it mattered to the other. Madeline has always been important to Sarah, but now I am guessing she is even more so – a gift from a precious sister, with a patch that symbolizes the love they shared for each other.

Madeline

As soon as Sarah learned to walk she seemed to be magnetically drawn to Emma’s room. In the evening after dinner, I would carry Sarah upstairs to begin the bath and bedtime routine. I would put her down in the upstairs hallway and turn my back to put the gate at the top of the stairs. When I would turn back around, she would be gone. I always knew where to find her, though. She would be in Emma’s room hunched over Emma’s basket of stuffed toys, deciding which one she would steal away with that evening.  And the toy she almost always chose was Emma’s Madeline doll.

This scene repeated itself night after night. Each time I would come into Emma’s room and find Sarah with the doll in her hand about to make off with her. Each time, I would tell Sarah that Madeline belonged to Emma and she needed to put her back in the basket. One night, Emma intervened in the scene. As I was telling Sarah once again that she needed to put Madeline back, Emma interrupted. “That’s okay, Mommy. I think Sarah likes Madeline more than I do. She can have her. Go ahead, Sarah. You can take her.”

I think Sarah would count that as one of the best gifts she has ever received. When Emma gave Sarah Madeline, she was a beautiful rag doll, with a sparkling clean embroidered face, red yarn hair, a red-checked dress, little white socks and the signature blue overcoat and yellow-brimmed hat. Now, most of Madeline’s hair is gone, the stitching on her face has worn off, the fabric on her legs is paper thin or gone, and her color, well, you don’t want to know. She has been a very loved little dolly from a very loved and loving big sister.

Good Night, Sleep Tight

Starting when the girls were babies, straight through the elementary school years, we had a rather long and elaborate bedtime ritual. It started with bath time, followed by a long story hour and ending with the custom tuck-in. Sarah liked to be rocked and then have her back rubbed. She had just one lovey, her Madeline doll, who went with her everywhere and was always a part of the tuck-in ritual.

Emma was another story. Emma had lots of loveys and they all needed to be included in the tuck-in routine. Emma’s main squeeze was a soft pink stuffed bear named Sparky that she had been given as a baby. She also had two blankets. First there was Soft Blankie. Soft Blankie was the older, more worn blanket. All the binding was gone and the blanket threads were fraying and tangled. At one point I had taken it away and replaced it with a new blanket because I thought she might get tangled in it in her sleep. Emma called the replacement blanket Cold Blankie because it still had the satin binding that she thought felt cold on her face when she snuggled with it. And, Emma had a large collection of Beanie Babies, each with their own name and significant place in the tuck-in ritual.

The tuck-in would start with the Beanie Babies. They would get tucked in, one by one, at the foot of Emma’s bed. There was a certain order that they were placed in the bed, which I don’t remember, but Emma probably would. Each would get a kiss and then be placed under the covers and pushed to the bottom of the bed. Next Emma would get in bed, clutching Sparky. We would tuck in Soft Blankie and Cold Blankie next to her and then, depending on whose turn it was, Peter or I would squeeze onto the edge of the bed and keep her company until she got sleepy, chatting a little about the day that was and the day that was to be.

I know these separate, and personal bedtime rituals were important to each of the girls. It was their own time. In fact, I think it was during one of these quiet moments, not long after Sarah was born, me squeezed next to Emma on her bed, lights off, waiting to get sleepy, that Emma said to me with a sigh, “Remember the good ol’ days…before Sarah was born.”

Christmas Carols

This isn’t a memory of Emma, but it is definitely a story of Emma. It happened just two days ago.

One of Emma’s friends had arranged to stop by on Monday evening to bring us something. A little past 6:30 pm the doorbell rang as expected and we opened the door to find Emma’s friend with a box in her hands. We invited her in, but she hesitated, placing the box just inside the door on the floor and then stepping back. “Well, I have a surprise for you,” she said. With that, two more of Emma’s friends rounded the corner and walked up our front steps, singing a Christmas carol. The tears started streaming down my face as they sang. It was so sweet that they were trying to bring us a little Christmas joy.  We urged all three to come in, and the first friend piped up again. “Well,” she said, “there’s more.”

With that a whole crew of Emma’s friends emerged from the shadows and filed into our house, singing as they went. There were fifteen of them in all. They strolled onto our living room stage, the place where Emma had performed her shows for us for so many years, and formed a semi-circle by our Christmas tree. They worked their way seamlessly through a carefully planned repertoire of Christmas music, complete with solos and duets and four part harmonies. There were tears streaming down my face as they sang, but they courageously kept going. They understood the tears. They were prepared for the tears. And they were on a mission.

When they finished, they presented us with doughnuts and Christmas cookies and gladly dug into both when we offered them. They sat in our living room for the next hour telling stories and laughing and being silly and for a little while, my heart felt lighter. Each of us there that night so clearly carries Emma in our hearts. And as we gathered together in our living room, I felt her presence much more than her absence. That, I think, is a Christmas miracle.

Santa Lucia Day

This past Sunday was Santa Lucia day, a holiday that is celebrated in Sweden and several other Scandinavian countries. Since Peter is of Swedish descent, our family tried to incorporate this Swedish tradition into our family holiday traditions.

It’s appropriate that I’m writing the entry about Santa Lucia Day two days after the holiday. That’s how it usually went with us. At the beginning of December, when we were hauling out the Advent calendars and planning how we would spend our holiday season, we would always have enthusiastic intentions to celebrate Santa Lucia Day. However, it would usually be two days after Santa Lucia Day that any of us would give it a second thought.

There were a few rare occasions when we actually pulled it off. Santa Lucia is celebrated in Sweden with a procession led by an older girl who dresses as the patron saint in a white dress and wearing a crown of evergreens with candles in it. Some families will celebrate the holiday by having the oldest daughter dress as Santa Lucia and deliver a cardamom flavored sweet roll to their neighbors.

The first time that we managed to remember this holiday, Emma was already about 9 and was our family’s designated Lucia. This did not bother Sarah who, at the time, did not speak to anyone who was bigger than she was. The visit to the neighbors by Santa Lucia is supposed to be done after nightfall, so the girls and I had time to bake the sweets in the afternoon after school. Instead of the traditional cardamom roll, we made a coffee cake. It was easier to make and I thought it might be more appealing to the American palate. Emma got all dressed up in her white dress and we constructed a crown for her from some artificial greens and Hanukkah candles.

We let her make the deliveries on her own, but watched from the window, trying to imagine the conversations she was having along the route. And, of course, each of our neighbors had a precious story to tell us later of their visit from Santa Lucia.

Our Birds

Emma was 6 when she and Pat began a tradition of working together on surprises for us. For several weeks before Christmas that year, Emma would steal away to Pat’s house after school once or twice a week to work on their top secret project. When it was done, Pat found a box for it and she and Emma wrapped it in Christmas paper. Emma came home one afternoon with her pretty package and proudly placed it in under the tree. She couldn’t wait for us to open it on Christmas morning and when the time finally came, she made sure that her gift was the first one we opened. I can still see the look of excitement, pride and joyful anticipation on her face as we ripped into the paper.

Inside the box was a wall hanging with 3 beautiful appliqué birds: a bluejay, a cardinal and a goldfinch. Each bird was sitting on a little perch made from real tree twigs. In addition to being a beautiful decoration, the wall hanging captured a little bit of who Emma was at that time; a budding naturalist who could already correctly identify more species of backyard birds than most adults. The back of the wall hanging includes Emma’s signature in her 6 year-old scrawl: Emma, December 1998. I remember Peter lifting the wall hanging from the package and exclaiming, “Oh, Emma. This is so beautiful! Did you really make this?” And I remember the big smile on her face as she replied, “Yes, Daddy. I really made that. Do you like it?”

We love it, Emma. And we love you.

Pat

Pat came into our lives because she was Peter’s mentor teacher when he took his first teaching position. Apparently, Pat took that mentor role very seriously, because she became a fixture in our lives over the next 20 years. 

When Peter first met Pat she told him that she and her husband Alan would be his “storm family.” “My storm family?” Peter questioned. Pat explained that her home was closer to school and would be open to him if the weather was ever too bad for him to make the drive home. Pat was also one of the very first people in our lives to throw a welcoming shower for us when we got back home with our newborn Emma. And two years later, it was Pat who made sure that we had the inside track on a house that was coming on the market in her neighborhood. That was the kind of person she was. You always felt a bit more secure knowing that Pat was looking out for you.

We got that house and it landed us almost across the street from Pat and Alan, who became a third set of grandparents for our girls. Pat and Emma developed a very special bond. They loved all the same things: birds, plants, insects, and feathers. And Pat was a brilliant crafter who would invite Emma over to her workshop. They would sew and quilt and create beautiful handmade gifts together. Her influence on Emma was profound.

Pat died very suddenly almost 3 years ago and we all miss her terribly. But sometimes I like to think that Emma and Pat are back together, working on a project. It will be a surprise. We’ll just have to be patient.

Perfect Score

Today Sarah is singing with her middle school music group at a school fundraiser being held at a local bookstore. They did this last year at this time, too, and it brings back a vivid memory. 


Last year, while I was watching Sarah perform, Emma was about 45 minutes away auditioning for the regional music festival. Emma had been practicing the music for this audition for months and it played in all of our heads all the time. It was beautiful music and she played it beautifully, though, so we loved listening to her practice. 

This was Emma's third year auditioning for the music festival. Her first year she auditioned for voice, flute and piccolo. She missed qualifying on piccolo by one point and on flute by three points. But she did qualify for voice and sang in the regional festival chorus. The next year she auditioned for all three again and qualified for all three. This left her with a difficult choice. She chose to participate in the regional festival band on flute. This third year she had decided to make it a little easier for herself and she was just auditioning on flute.


Sarah's group had just finished their performance when my cell phone rang. It was Emma. "Mom, I got a perfect score!" I had to ask her to repeat what she said so that it could sink in. "Wow, Emma that's unbelievable. You must be so excited! " "I know. I am really excited," she responded. And she was excited. She was almost singing as she spoke. "You need to call Adrianne (her flute teacher)," I said. "Adrianne is going to be absolutely thrilled." "I know," said Emma. "I can't wait to tell her. Mom, this means I'll be first chair at the music festival" "That's amazing, Emm. But you know what? You deserve it. You really do."



Emma was absolutely on top of the world that day. That's how I like to remember her.

The Nutcracker

One of Emma’s favorite holiday movies was a video we had of a NYC Ballet production of George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker starring Damian Woetzel and Darci Kistler with Kevin Kline narrating. We probably watched that video 10 times each holiday season, until just recently, when we still  watched it at least once or twice during the season.


When Emma was 6, I got tickets to see the NYC Ballet’s The Nutcracker. It was the exact same production, with the same stars, same set; all it was missing was Kevin Kline’s narration. Emma was beside herself. Needless to say we went back several times over the years.


Then, when Emma was in 6th grade, she got the opportunity to actually be in the NYC Ballet production of The Nutcracker. Her role was small, she played a toy soldier, but you can imagine her excitement at being part of a production she had watched for years and years. And all her heroes were there with her backstage, Damian Woetzel, Darci Kistler, Wendy Whelan. It was pretty amazing.


For the next 2 Christmas seasons, Emma was dancing at a studio that did their own production of The Nutcracker, so Emma got to dance as a mouse, a flower and a snowflake. It’s amazing to look back and see how far she took a passion that started when she was 3 with a nutcracker toy from Santa and a Christmas video.

Decorating for Christmas

Yesterday I pulled out our Christmas decorations. I had to sort of force myself to do it, because I thought it was a task that would be fraught with bittersweet memories. I was right.

We are a family of traditions. Traditions in our home are easily created and not so easily abandoned. That’s why I often advise people with very young children to think carefully about the traditions they are beginning. They’ll be repeated for a very long time!

Our Christmas decorations reflect some of our not so carefully thought out traditions. For example, there is the musical Christmas carousel that Gram gave us as a novelty when the girls were small. A few years ago, I suggested that maybe we didn’t need to get the carousel out anymore. The look on Emma and Sarah’s faces when I said that let me know that the carousel, complete with its annoying flashing lights and grating mechanical music, was a permanent part of our Christmas tradition.

Then there’s Frank the Lamppost, a tacky, holiday-decorated lamppost with a human face that sways and sings holiday songs in a pseudo Frank Sinatra voice.  Sarah spotted this beauty at a drug store around the corner from our home. When she asked if we could buy it, I said absolutely not. That was where I drew the line on tacky. But wouldn’t you know it, Frank was under the tree on Christmas morning in all his kitschy glory, courtesy of Santa Claus. I have often tried to “forget” to get him out. But, he always seems to find his way out of the attic and into our front hall where he can accost our horrified holiday guests. Ah, the miracle of the motion sensor!

The other traditional decorations are Emma’s nutcrackers. Santa brought Emma a new nutcracker every year starting from the time she was 3. The nutcracker would be there Christmas morning. It would not be wrapped and there was never a tag saying for whom it was meant. But Emma always knew it was for her. “I knew it. I knew Santa would bring me another nutcracker,” she would proclaim on Christmas morning. She was as excited about the nutcracker Santa brought her last year as she was about the one she received when she was 3. And yes, you read that right. I said the nutcracker Santa brought her. Emma always had room for magic in her life and no one in our house has ever felt the need to question the identity of the magician who transformed our living room on Christmas morning.  Besides, who else besides Santa would bring you Frank the Lamppost?!

Emma's Tree

Last night I remembered a specific visit to the Christmas Tree Genie. We always went back to the Christmas tree farm to pick up our tree on the first or second weekend in December. The Christmas Tree Genie would have our tree cut and waiting for us. This one year that I am remembering, the Genie had done some trimming of a very large tree he had cut down for someone else and a little tree-shaped top was sitting off to the side of where the other trees were waiting to be picked up. Emma immediately spied the little tree and approached the Genie. "Do you think I could have that little tree?" she asked. He explained to her that it was only the top of a much bigger tree. But she said, "That's okay. I think it will make a beautiful tree for me."


He gladly gave her the tree top and tied it to the roof with our other tree. When we got home we spent much more time trying to figure out how to make her little tree stand up than we did making our big tree stand up. When we finished decorating our big tree she set about decorating her own tree with some small ornaments we had gotten in an Advent calendar and with some ornaments that she sat down and made herself.


I think of this as another quintessential Emma story. What others would throw away, she would cherish. She found beauty in places others never even bothered to look. I am trying to look at the world through those eyes now,  looking for beauty in unexpected places and taking time to appreciate life's smallest moments.

When I Grow Up

Of course, after seeing the Rockettes in action that first time, Emma immediately decided that she wanted to be a Rockette. She stuck with that career aspiration for a long time. In fact, one year we went back to Radio City after the Christmas season was over and took the backstage tour, so Emma could get an insider’s view of the life and times of a real life Rockette.

That was not her first career aspiration, however. When we asked her at the ripe old age of 2 what she wanted to be when she grew up, she had an immediate answer. “A goldfish or a peanut butter man,” she said. “What’s a peanut butter man, Emma?” we asked her. “A man who sells peanut butter!” she exclaimed impatiently. Grown-ups are so stupid sometimes.

Radio City Christmas

Like many families, our family would often take the train into New York City around Christmas time to make the pilgrimage to Radio City Music Hall for their Christmas Spectacular. Emma and Sarah both loved this show and, in fact, we had talked last spring about going back this year. I was touched, actually, that of everything we could find to do in New York, my two teenagers wanted to go back and see the Christmas show that they remembered so fondly.


I’ll never forget the first time Emma saw that show when she was about 4. She was absolutely enthralled by the pageantry. She loved the Rockettes with their high-stepping dance moves and glitzy costumes, the ice skaters, Santa in his flying sleigh. She sat on the edge of her seat wide-eyed and smiling throughout most of the show.


The Christmas Spectacular ends with the staging of a live nativity. While the wise men, shepherds, sheep, cows, and even camels make their way onto the stage, an announcer tells the story of Jesus’ birth, life and ultimately, his terrible death. The story is told in very human terms and ends by asking the audience to consider how amazing it is that 2,000 years later, people all over the world still remember and celebrate the birth, life and lessons of a man who came from such humble beginnings.


The lights came up and I looked over at Emma, expecting to see that same wide-eyed, smiling face, but her eyes were red and her cheeks were tear stained. “What’s the matter, Emma,” I said. “Why did they do that to him, Mama?” she sobbed.


I have to admit, I have sat in church and listened to the story of Jesus’ life and death every Christmas and Easter since I was a child. But that year at the Christmas Spectacular, hearing the story as Emma had, it felt like I had heard it for the first time, and I was touched by the human aspects of the story in a way that I never had been before. That is the gift that children give us. – allowing us to see and hear things anew. That is one of many gifts that Emma gave me.

Emma and Gram

A little over 2 years ago my Mom, Gram, moved into a nursing home. It was a tough move for a woman who had always been fiercely independent and whose home, where she had lived for more than 50 years and raised her 7 children, was her sanctuary.

The nursing home that became her new home is just down the hill from where Emma went to high school. A couple of months after her Gram moved in down the hill, Emma was inducted into the school’s music honor society. This meant that twice a month she had brief meetings after school on Friday. The meetings ended before her dad or I could pick her up, so it left her with some time to fill. She could have arranged to meet some friends downtown or done homework in the library but, instead, she chose to walk down the hill to visit her Gram. She would sit and chat with her for about an hour until one of us picked her up.

They always seem to be having a nice, comfortable time together when we arrived. In fact, Peter commented on how much it seemed like Emma enjoyed those visits. And my mom would always seem especially alert and bright after the hour spent with Emma. They did each other good. Kindred spirits.

Happy Birthday Gram

Today is Emma’s grandmother’s 93rd birthday.  Emma and her grandma had a special bond right from the start. I remember watching my mom hold Emma for the first time. Emma was instantly comfortable in her arms. You could almost see the thought bubble over her tiny head, “I like this lady. This lady knows what she’s doing!”

Emma and her grandma shared a childlike enthusiasm for the holidays that didn’t wane with age. Emma loved to get dressed up and Gram was always the one who made sure she was well-outfitted, hats and all. And no one loves a party more than Gram and Emma, especially a tea party, because, of course, you get to wear hats!

But I think the thing that linked them most is their generosity. Both Gram and Emma redefined generosity for me. It’s true that they were generous in the usual sense. Both would gladly give the shirts off their backs to make you happy. They found enormous joy in finding the perfect gift or making a wish come true. But they were also generous in spirit, opening themselves up to people without any expectations of getting something back. Sometimes their openness was perceived as naiveté. They never questioned people’s motivations or intentions. They didn’t fret about getting hurt or cheated. They jumped into people’s lives with both feet. And because they were willing to do that, both Emma and Gram have touched many, many people in ways that they will never forget.

Happy birthday, Gram.

The Origin of Fabulous

Nuff said.

My Family by Emma

I found an elementary school assignment of Emma’s that was probably from first or second grade.  It was a booklet titled My Family. Inside were pages with headings and Emma had filled in answers to describe her family. Here are a few highlights:

Here are some of our family’s favorite sayings:
We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Here are some of my family’s favorite meals:
Steak and beans
Emma’s favorite shrimp
Sarah’s favorite chicken
Fajitas

My family has many talents. Here is a list of them.
Wild hugs
Family hugs
Jazz
Mexican hat dance
Ballet

This section was accompanied by a drawing of our family doing what appears to be the Mexican hat dance. I’ll leave that to your imagination.

Blogger’s Note: I have no recollection of ever doing the Mexican hat dance, but perhaps I’ve blocked it out.

The Origin of Fabulous

Emma’s friends from high school sometimes refer to her as “Fabulous.” This is a reference, at least in part I think, to her fabulous sense of style. Many of her friends showed up at her memorial service in fedoras, one of Emma’s fashion signatures. What her friends probably don’t know, though, is that Emma had a flair for fashion from the get-go, and hats were always an important part of her wardrobe.


I know that I have enough memories and stories to post something every day for a very long time, but my real world obligations may keep me from doing so from time to time. So I’ve decided that sometimes I will post just a picture of Emma in one of her many hats - a glimpse at Fabulous in the making.

The Official Start of the Christmas Season

When Emma and Sarah were little, the start of the Christmas season was not the first Sunday in Advent, it was Columbus Day. That was the day we would head to a local tree farm to select and tag our Christmas tree. The expedition would enthusiastically be led by Gram who, I’m pretty sure, is a direct descendant of a Christmas elf. Uncle John and Aunt Joyce and Emma and Sarah’s cousins, Katie and Eric, would join us.


The owner of the tree farm was an amazing guy – a veritable Christmas tree genie. We would never call ahead, but somehow he would always be there waiting for us. He would remember not only what kind of tree we had picked the year before, but also where it came from on the farm. And he would already have several tree candidates in mind for each of our families. This wasn’t a business for him, it was a calling.


We always, and I mean always, seemed to get a beautiful day for our tree expedition. The property was gorgeous, so we enjoyed hiking over hill and dale exploring the hundreds of potential trees. Along the way, the kids would stop to catch crickets, which always seemed to be in abundant supply. I still remember the time we saw a bald eagle circling overhead, the first time I had ever seen one in the wild. Emma was a little naturalist, so she loved everything about this Christmas tree farm. We all did. It was a little piece of paradise.


We took our search for the perfect tree very seriously. We’d each find trees that we thought had potential and then call the others over for approval. The full tree committee would give a thorough and highly critical appraisal of each candidate. The tree farm owner would let this go on for as long as we all seemed to be enjoying it, but as soon as patience seemed to be running short he would jump in. “You know I had a tree in mind for you. It’s right over, here,” he would say. And then he’d lead our little parade over to a tree that was astonishingly perfect. Just to be safe, we’d measure it and walk all the way around it, checking it out from every angle. But he was always right – the perfect tree – and we’d probably walked past it ten times.


Once the trees were tagged we would head back to Gram’s for some pizza and then Gram did what she did best – bake cookies. She would already have mixed up the gingerbread dough, which needed to be chilled overnight. She would roll out the dough and the kids would help her cut out the gingerbread men and women, put them on the cookie sheets and then decorate them with way too many currants, cinnamon candies and sugar. The best part was eating the cookies right after they came out of the oven, accompanied by a glass of milk -the perfect end to a perfect day.


Some people have to wait until Christmas day and the arrival of Santa to experience the magic of Christmas, but for us, the magic of Christmas began in October with an elf named Gram and the Christmas Tree Genie.