A Blue, Blue Christmas

It’s the most wonderful time of the year! Or is it? So much self-induced pressure to top last year's shopping list. I look out to see my reindeer missing a limb on the front lawn. I listen to Carrie Underwood sing about wearing stretchy pants, and think “What does she know about spandex and lycra?”  Yesterday, as I spent the afternoon in our warehouse going through the Christmas decorations, I had to mentally prepare for the task before me — a sea of hot pink and red in what could only be described as “Santa threw up.” Every year, I promise myself to do less, only to add more.

But, then out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my Granny’s 1965 Impala, dusty and tired, in need of a car wash. I immediately hopped inside to see if it still smelled like her, a cross between Tabu (cologne) and dirt. They had a dirt floor in their garage, so when you’d start the engine, dust would cloud the inside. Old Blue did not disappoint. It was just as I remembered, and just when I needed it most. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as tears filled my eyes. I was flooded with memories of my Granny and me. She’d let me steer and push the gas pedal as we’d terrorize the neighborhood. We’d go to the grocery store to get my favorite snacks, as I’d sneak men’s “Fruit of the Loom” underwear and beer into her cart. It made her laugh every time; it was even funnier watching her explain why they were in there.

My grandparents didn’t have much according to the world’s standards, but to me they had it all. They were rich because they loved Jesus and loved me. We will celebrate one day in heaven. For now, I cling to the memories. My grands ask me to tell them “Granny” stories when I tuck them in.  It doesn’t get better than that. Make memories; they can last for generations.

Merry Christmas from Laura Crudup!