The Elvis Christmas 2-Step

Last night, I began reminiscing of the Christmas times of my childhood and was drawn into particular vivid, dreamy memories of our extended family get-togethers there in the rural town of Camden, Tennessee -- smelling the glorious fragrances of homemade cornbread and pecan pie wafting from my Nanny Troutt's kitchen and of my PaPa, Dad and various uncles and male cousins engaged in a serious game of dominoes or cards under the basement steps. I still remember the bright light of a bulb hovering precariously over the card table, accenting the drawn and stern poker faces of the focused gang.

During the men's action, the womenfolk were nearby clucking and cackling over whatever the carefully chosen game was that year, or cooing over the infamous "evil Santa" ornament swap (or should I say steal!) Invariably, this game was more than enough to ruffle the feathers of many of the mother hens in the room. Long into the next year would the various, loving comments be made about how aunt so and so "stole that glow-in-the-dark, silver plated, talking Santa candy bowl that I really wanted." "Just wait until next year. I won't be so nice."

Then there were the grandchildren wandering around aimlessly or huddling in some back room to taunt the younger brood with "I'm not your friend" antics and the boys terrorizing the girls until someone was inevitably sentenced to "sit down my Mama." But, oh such sweet memories that I wouldn't trade for anything!

On to "Mama's side of the family" where we would listen to our entertaining and jovial Uncle Dickie tell jokes and stories while chain-smoking menthols that filled the room with a sweet, intoxicating aroma as we would laugh and giggle the night away. Without fail, somewhere during the course of the evening would come the inevitable melt-down of my MamaMac, usually right before dinner, when she would stand by the kitchen counter and looking out the window to the cabinets say, "I just can't handle this. I just can handle it." The tense but anticipated moment would pass as we moved into the room to open various and asundry gifts, (all except for various uncles, men and boys who couldn't peel themselves from the boob tube while watching a football game! You know who you are!) And on Christmas Eve, we would pack into a car and go gliding down a windy road to Big Sandy to see Santa Claus and get a surprise gift and sing hymns at a small, country Methodist church. How fun!

But, one the most cherished memories I have is the two-stepping around the room to my grandmother's favorite Christmas song of all time "I'll Have A Blue Christmas" by Elvis Presley. She loved this song, and often at Christmastime would grab me and begin to waltz around the room to the beat of the music. I always enjoyed these times with her so much. Even last night, as I added this song to my playlist, I felt myself slide off my computer chair and begin to two-step around my room alone in the flickering glow of the Christmas tree, singing softly along and waltzing, dreaming, remembering.

Thank you, my God, for good, precious, and fond memories of childhood and Christmas time! Thank you for parents and extended family who cared enough to leave this legacy of love to me. Thank you for the ability to experience the beauty of grandparents in my life, and to experience the community of the family of God. Thank you for the joy of dancing with my grandmother, twirling around the room, not caring what anyone thought or said. Thank you that we were not only dancing alone, but you were dancing with us, spinning us around the room and holding us in your invisible arms of love. Thank you, dear Father. How can I thank you enough for the blue, blue Christmases?