This memory was sparked by Jolene.
I have this vision of Christmas at my parents house. I don’t know how old I am, but we are playing host to The Wynns. Again, I don’t know how many –it’s before my aunts started having children, but not before my uncles. Sometimes I think I’m not more than 2nd grade, but then it seems like Chris and Tom are together, married. So that would be 4th. Ah, the impermanence and imperfection of memory.
However, I do know that the folks have been cooking up a storm. There is indeed Oyster Stew (this was a staple at Christmas for a long time. I don’t know why.), Chili, sandwiches, and Mom’s cookies. Everyone’s mother makes the best cookies. You would be wrong — it’s my mom. Although, my Grandma Wynn (she refers to herself to me as Emmy these days, I don’t know why) makes amazing sugar cookies, as I recall. It’s been 30 years, I think, so memory plays it’s funny games.
I remember it was Christmas Eve. Our tree was lit in the living room. We had our round table so post-fire, maybe? Perhaps we always had a round table. The house is filled with people. Mom is worrying about having enough food. I am worried about enough space (the hotel room we’re staying in is 1/2 the size of my mom’s house).
I remember, like always, being shy about company. I remember wanting to like oyster stew because I like seafood, but I’m not sure. I remember thinking it was REALLY important to have oyster crackers for the soup. I remember packages, but not opening presents. I remember the crowd, but not the people. I remember the food, but not eating or community. I remember disappearing.
…and that’s it.
I wonder if it’s significant?