It's Christmas Eve. The winter sun is peaking up over the river in a brilliant orange. Beautiful. I've been awake for a couple of hours, flooded by the remembrance of the faces connected to me. It's comforting and sad at the same time. Christmas has a way of heightening joy and sorrow simultaneously doesn't it?
One smiling face seems to be surfacing in my thoughts more predominantly today, and I think I know why. On Christmas Eve when I was young, my Dad would make a long distance phone call overseas to his Aunt Jean in Scotland. Unlike today, it was a huge deal then to place a call like that. I think you had to call the operator to help you. Plus it seemed like such an expense. It only happened on Christmas Eve and the phone call was actually directed to the neighbour next door because Aunt Jean didn't have her own phone. The neighbour would bang on the pipes between their homes to let Jean know her nephew was calling from Canada. Once she was on the other end of the line..................which had a crackly far away sound, we'd all have a chance to say hello to this feisty woman with a thick Scottish "r" rolling brogue.............only half understanding what she was saying.
Beautiful rolling "r's" and a lilty song voice couched with an "ooooooooooo" and always a direct "this is how it is" tone. My Great Aunt Jean. The matriarch of my Dad's side of the family. I wouldn't describe her as a warm and fuzzy type, though she had a big heart and kept the familial history up to date in her oversized Bible. She had a outside crust to her rosy cheekiness.
Aunt Jean was my first penpal. After her initial visit to Canada to stay with us (her very first time on a plane), she and I wrote to one another regularly for years. I loved receiving the blue aerogram in the mail with her tiny scripty writing, full of newsy bits of her life and of the lives of her daughters, my second cousins. In return, I would fill her in on the newsy bits about her nieces and nephews........and grrrrrand nieces and nephews......... I still have her letters tucked away.
Underlying our special Christmas Eve event was this feeling of connecting to the place in the world where we came from.....a wee little village called Lanark in Lanarkshire. My Grandfather was born not far from where Aunt Jean lived in another village named Larkhall, near "Mount Tintel".............the highest point in the area.
When I was 18, I made the trek to visit her in Lanark. She took me all around the area, introducing me as "This lass is my grrrrrrand niece..........Tom's son RRRRRRRRRRobert's eldest. She's come to visit from Canada."
And they would reply....... "Aye, I can see the resemblance.........Welcome to Lanark. Have you climbed Mount Tintel yet? You must do that and when yooooooooooou doooooo, take a rock with yooooooooooou to leave at the top. That's the tradition. We all have a part in making it higher."
Over the ensuing years, we continued to keep in touch through aerograms and visits. She flew again across the pond a couple of times, and I had another visit to Lanark. It was during my second trip, which occured near the end of a 4 month trek through Europe when I felt a strong sense of ancestral belonging to Lanark. It happened during the walk up Mt. Tintel with my friend Heather and three new travel friends. As we climb up this hill, rocks in hand, I was flooded by a feeling of belonging. It was a wonderful experience.
So, today as we go for a walk in the afternoon, as we get ready to enjoy Christmas Eve dinner..........as we take part in the church services tonight, I will think of my Aunt Jean and her rollings "rrrrrrrrr's".......... and reintroduce a few of my stories of her to my children.
I want her spirit to be alive today................on Christmas Eve.
One smiling face seems to be surfacing in my thoughts more predominantly today, and I think I know why. On Christmas Eve when I was young, my Dad would make a long distance phone call overseas to his Aunt Jean in Scotland. Unlike today, it was a huge deal then to place a call like that. I think you had to call the operator to help you. Plus it seemed like such an expense. It only happened on Christmas Eve and the phone call was actually directed to the neighbour next door because Aunt Jean didn't have her own phone. The neighbour would bang on the pipes between their homes to let Jean know her nephew was calling from Canada. Once she was on the other end of the line..................which had a crackly far away sound, we'd all have a chance to say hello to this feisty woman with a thick Scottish "r" rolling brogue.............only half understanding what she was saying.
Beautiful rolling "r's" and a lilty song voice couched with an "ooooooooooo" and always a direct "this is how it is" tone. My Great Aunt Jean. The matriarch of my Dad's side of the family. I wouldn't describe her as a warm and fuzzy type, though she had a big heart and kept the familial history up to date in her oversized Bible. She had a outside crust to her rosy cheekiness.
Aunt Jean was my first penpal. After her initial visit to Canada to stay with us (her very first time on a plane), she and I wrote to one another regularly for years. I loved receiving the blue aerogram in the mail with her tiny scripty writing, full of newsy bits of her life and of the lives of her daughters, my second cousins. In return, I would fill her in on the newsy bits about her nieces and nephews........and grrrrrand nieces and nephews......... I still have her letters tucked away.
Underlying our special Christmas Eve event was this feeling of connecting to the place in the world where we came from.....a wee little village called Lanark in Lanarkshire. My Grandfather was born not far from where Aunt Jean lived in another village named Larkhall, near "Mount Tintel".............the highest point in the area.
When I was 18, I made the trek to visit her in Lanark. She took me all around the area, introducing me as "This lass is my grrrrrrand niece..........Tom's son RRRRRRRRRRobert's eldest. She's come to visit from Canada."
And they would reply....... "Aye, I can see the resemblance.........Welcome to Lanark. Have you climbed Mount Tintel yet? You must do that and when yooooooooooou doooooo, take a rock with yooooooooooou to leave at the top. That's the tradition. We all have a part in making it higher."
Over the ensuing years, we continued to keep in touch through aerograms and visits. She flew again across the pond a couple of times, and I had another visit to Lanark. It was during my second trip, which occured near the end of a 4 month trek through Europe when I felt a strong sense of ancestral belonging to Lanark. It happened during the walk up Mt. Tintel with my friend Heather and three new travel friends. As we climb up this hill, rocks in hand, I was flooded by a feeling of belonging. It was a wonderful experience.
So, today as we go for a walk in the afternoon, as we get ready to enjoy Christmas Eve dinner..........as we take part in the church services tonight, I will think of my Aunt Jean and her rollings "rrrrrrrrr's".......... and reintroduce a few of my stories of her to my children.
I want her spirit to be alive today................on Christmas Eve.
5 comments:
So true about the sorrows and joys. Sounds like you have some lovely memories of Aunt Jean.
Merrrrrrrrrrrry Christmas to you and your family!
It is 11:49 on Christmas eve and the rest of the gang are nestled all snug in their beds (finally) and I, with a hot buttered Rum in one hand, am putting on the finishing touches before heading off myself.
About twenty-five Christmas's ago, I was enlisted to give Santa a hand with filling stockings as the last task of the evening. Now, with three grown kids (25, 23, & 21) some might expect it to be a task required no longer.
But, I must be the luckiest guy in the world cause I just finished filling the big, old, hand-knitted stockings full to the brim. And I finally realized that Santa chose me to do this, so many years ago, not for them - but for me!
And tomorrow, the joy will continue as I watch these happy, healthy, bright young adults pull each and every little item out....and I will give thanks for such blessings.
I don't know what it was we did (my wife and I) to deserve such joy and reward.
So to borrow from the Psalmist:
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."
Dana - my roots are in the same part of the world and I too have been fortunate enough to visit and feel a similar sense of belonging. It is a special feeling.
Happy Christmas to you and yours from the House on Big Island.
Hi Layla........yes, my daughter's middle name is Jean. My son's middle name is Anderson....my aunt Jean's married name....AND my mom's maiden name. funny how it's on both sides of the family. Aunt Jean was a big part of my life, despite the fact that she lived so far away.
Ian/Daisy.........what a lovely picture. I too have just finished the stocking filling....one of my favourite Christmas eve tasks.
Sipping on a Baileys........ :)
Must catch some sleep now!
Merry Christmas to you and your family. Have FUN tomorrow.
What a beautiful story Dana!! So much love nestled in that history & how wonderful that you got to visit her in Scotland and she made her firt airplane trip to Canada!! Merry Christmas to you Dana & to Aunt Jean wherever she may be :)
Much peace, joy and Christmas blessings,
Deb
Lovely story about your Aunt Jean! Joyeux Noel!
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