Cornbread Memories: Hot Tamales, Cotton and Catfish

Cornbread Memories
Growing up in the Mississippi Delta

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The smell of a live Christmas tree brings back great memories. Bubbling lights, flashing and flickering, and each special decoration that comes with its own story. The frail Belgium hand blown figures, the plastic elves that scream 1940 and the whiskered Santa-heads that light up the tree. Garlands bring back a time when pop corn was strung and wrapped round and round the tree. Long plastic ice icicles and the aluminum-like icicles carefully hung one at a time. But then I'm getting ahead of myself.

First, you had to pick out the perfect, full and well shaped tree. Then getting it home atop the car, roped in better than any calf at a rodeo. The huge metal stand and the trunk had to match which meant sawing to the lengths of aching arms to get the base of the tree to fit in the metal stand. The fresh smell of pine filled our home. Once the tree is secure in its stand, then testing the lights before hanging on the tree usually meant replacing the large bright colored bulbs. Then there was the challenge to make sure that when you get to the last string of lights that you had the male end to plug into the wall. If you ever got them backwards and ended up with a female end and no way to plug the lights into the wall outlet; well, you didn't make that mistake twice. Then you have to have it right at the top, too...so you will have a male and female to connect the treetop angel's lights.

When my two sisters were small kids, maybe seven or eight, they pooled their long-saved monies together and went to Ben Franklin's on Washington Avenue and bought a rather plain but beautiful angel. She didn't have lights and in her simplistic way became the crown atop our family Christmas tree for decades. The lighted angel came when the simplistic angel began showing her age and was ceremoniously retired. She now resides in a glass case in my sister's home, after our oldest sister lost her valiant battle with cancer. For years, they passed that angel back and forth, each keeping her for a year. The plain angel was as much a part of Christmas as the tree. Retiring her was a hard decision. Her back story of two kids saving their dimes and pooling their money to buy that angel made her that much more special to our family.

I suppose some would have trouble understanding the personal attachments to the special dime store angel, as well as the fondness towards individual decorations, but the five plastic, very red Santas with a huge smile, white lined suit, and black boots or the reindeer decorations had been on the family Christmas tree before memories began for most of us. They were hand picked by our parents and were far more special than the ordinary ornaments you buy today, usually stamped "Made in China." Glass globes, fragile and carefully stored away at the end of each Christmas. The fact that they didn't get bumped and smash to the floor each year was amazing. Although, some did end up in hundreds of shards on the floor. Maybe because most of the decorations were fragile and survived for so many years made them special...or maybe because we had grown accustomed to each one and looked for those extra special ornaments hanging somewhere on the tree. The family tradition that each family member would hang at least one ornament on the tree, remains today. Everybody participated.

Whatever the attachment we all had for the real tree, the plain angel and each ornament, why we all rejoiced in each year's tree and seeing the ornaments resting in boxes, soon to be hung on the tree I can't put a finger on. Maybe it was the safety of knowing they were always there. Maybe we were happily stuck in years past and liked being stuck there. What I can tell you is, things change. The frail and fragile ornaments over the years, no matter the care applied will be broken. There will be less and less each year.

I remember the year the large Christmas lights were swapped out for the more modern, small lights. When one went out on the new string of lights, the whole line went dark. That never happened with the big lights. One of the big boys burnt out, you simply replaced that one light bulb. The changing of the lights from old to modern was only a small sign of what was to come. Losing the bubbling lights in exchange for the newer smaller lights never did settle well. I still miss those silly, bubbling lights.

One Christmas new ornaments were bought to replace all of the broken and worn ornaments that we knew and expected to see on the tree. I can't say it was pandemonium, but I can say it was different. One of those differences you notice, are effected by but don't speak of. It wasn't the same...and neither were we. We were no longer short, little people that had to tilt a head back to see the top of the ten foot tree...which was now adorned with a lighted, fancy, modern angel.

We were aware that things were changing. Christmas felt different. It was still joyful, always with great expectations but it wasn't just the ornaments and lights that were different. Things slip up on you and sometimes you don't notice.

Mom and Dad moved a bit slower. Their inner-light didn't shine as bright as it used to on Christmas mornings. Its the sort of changes you try desperately to ignore. But, like the fragile glass Christmas balls that hit the floor, there comes a time that you give in to the idea all is not what it used to be. Those two wonderful, vibrant people that gave their all to make sure we had an unforgettable Christmas, had began to fade. And when you aren't looking and least expect it, they leave us.

Tradition is important. Savoring the moment is important. Hiding from the fact that things change doesn't alter that things will change and usually in ways that will change you, too.

We've kept those honored traditions that Mom and Dad gave us. It was vital to them and as vital to us. It would be simpler to give in to the fast moving world that rushes through Christmas, only to rush through New Years and then speed through the next year. Repeat. That formula leaves us hollow and unsatisfied. We know deep within us that tradition keeps us together, bound by the past and yet living in the present and ignoring the future. Slowing down to watch a child rip into a brightly wrapped present is something to be cherished.

Christmas morning, my siblings and I rushed in to see what Santa brought. Caught up in the wonderful moments of dreams coming true. Then we would settle in, the eight of us and one present at a time was opened and ahhh-ed and oood-ed by all. Then the next present was opened. We started at five in the morning and was still opening gifts at noon. It never got boring or tiresome because whatever was underneath that flashy wrapping paper held everyone's attention and was someone's dream being unwrapped. Watching the face register surprise would fill the room with laughter. We were taught to savor the moments. We knew that the next present could be ours. What mattered was dreams were coming true and we were all a part of it. Mom would say, "Be still and watch. Life is happening."

It's a thought that could be applied year round. "Be still and watch. Life is happening."