Mom's Red Wagon

My mom is 81 this year and lives alone in the house Dad and she built. She has me and 3 sons between 50 and 60. Her only wish for Christmas was a red Radio Flyer wagon!

Mom likes to garden, but has trouble lifting and carrying things. The wagon would be great for transporting tools, pots, dirt, weeds and leaves, bringing in the groceries, carrying wood from the garage to the wood stove, and any number of things.

Everyone said, "you already have a red wagon, why do you need another one," to which she would hang her head and say, "it's broken." This was a pathetic display of sympathy seeking, if I ever say one. My brothers berated her for leaving it outside to rust. She said she had had it for 20 years and it came from the dump!

As the older sister and solver of problems, I decided I had to be the one to get the damn red wagon. I had been keeping my eyes open at tag sales since summer, but there didn't seem to be any around. Living in the country, I couldn't even figure where to begin looking for one. Wal-Mart didn't have one, Craigs's List didn't have one. There are no good toy stores nearby. A local garden center uses them, but doesn't sell them. Then M gave me a lead on one at the pharmacy, of all places.

The closer it came to Christmas, the more pathetic she got. "I hear the pharmacy has a wagon---" I told her they didn't, I had looked. (I had bought it!) I told her to get over it. My brothers and our friend M chipped in and I carried the box around in the back of my car so she wouldn't see it in my house.

Christmas eve, I decided not to put it together, so I could wrap it in the box. It fit perfectly in two pillowcases. We gave it to her after all the other gifts were opened. She got all cute and coy and said, "what could this be?" Then her eyes lit up like a toddler's as she saw it was her beloved Radio Flyer wagon. Priceless. David began putting it together on the living room floor. As he refused to read the directions, he made a couple of mistakes and had to take it apart and rebuild it. Mom was getting nervous-she came into the kitchen and had a cup of tea till it was over.

Now the wagon resides in her lower parlor, where the wood stove is. She has a cardboard liner in it to keep it nice. She shows it to everyone who comes in, saying, "see what my kids gave me for Christmas!" I don't think we'll ever have to get her another one!

My friend Trisha thinks she can salvage the old one and plant flowers in it. Mom says it's junk, and Trisha lights up and says, "I know." She is expert at reusing junk, much more adventurous at it than I am. It may live on.

Happy Trails!

To Grandmother's House

When I was growing up, we lived next door to my grandparents.  They had an old shingle house with a formal parlor in it.  It was a magical place. In the summer it was cool and private, and I was allowed to go in there and read all I wanted.  The shelves were filled with flowered poetry books, boys adventure stories and other wonderful things. There were two closets, one on either side of the fireplace. In one there was a Civil War uniform. I vaguely remember faded flowered wallpaper over white painted wainscotting and the fireplace wall was all white paneled. There was a tinder box and a bed warmer on the hearth. The furniture was victorian and dainty and pretty. There was a piano-out of tune, but pretty too-did it have flowers carved into it?  On one wall was a picture of a boy in a straw hat, by Thomas Sully. The floor was worn wide boards with rugs on it.

Christmas eves my grandparents had a party in the parlor, with a tree and sweets hand made by grandma. Mom played carols on the piano and we all sang. The fire crackled and we opened hand-made gifts wrapped in old ironed paper and ribbons.  That was my job, to iron the ribbons and paper. We made popcorn garlands. Grandma made potato divinity and stuffed dates.  I don't remember having a whole meal, though if we did, we ate it in the dining room. Grandpa twinkled and told stories, and the uncles teased us all. That's filed away in my memory for ever.

I haven't been in the parlor since 1974, just before I moved to Colorado for 20 years. Now it is out of my realm--other family members live there--but I have my memory. They say long-term memory is the longest lasting...I have my own traditions now, and I hope that I retain the spirit of those long ago Christmases. I glean gifts from around the house or make my own. I reuse paper and gift bags. I don't iron anymore, though!

I hope you all have a lovely holiday season.  Stay warm and cozy!