Grandma Doris Dates
There is a fantastic "This American Life" episode that is recorded in the Toys R Us at midnight on Christmas Eve. The reporter interviews a dad who is there to buy "twin dolls" for his 4 year old. He and his wife had already purchased the child's toys, and it included a doll, but that night, on Christmas Eve, the child had repeatedly told him that Santa was bringing her "twin dolls" and so this dad found himself at the Toys R Us on Christmas Eve at midnight trying to make his daughter's Christmas Morning perfect. He had enough insight to recognize the insanity, and yet he bought the dolls anyway.
The father was of course trying to reach the parenting pincale - the Magical Christmas Memory. He was well meaning and even knew that he might be wrong, but he could not resist. He wanted her excited smile on Christmas morning (which would happen anyway), he wanted to see her prefer those twin dolls to all other dolls and insist for a year that they go everywhere with her, and he most especially wanted her to wistfully say when she was an adult, "Oh, dad, do you remember the Christmas I got the twin dolls?" On principle I don't like Christmas, and this is why, but there are Christmas traditions that are meaningful to me - walks in the cold (I like Christmas Eve walks and Christmas morning walks), Midnight Mass, buckeyes (those chocolate covered peanutbutter balls made by my Aunt Mary Jane who included "a bottle of wine" in the list of ingredients when she handed out the recipe - "The wine isn't in the Buckeyes, it's to drink while you make em!" she cackled.), and Grandma Doris Dates.
No one calls them Grandma Doris Dates except my mom and dad and sister, I think. "I found the Grandma Doris Dates," I told my mom on the phone as I talked about my weekend shopping. I put a couple in a cellophane bag for my sister's gift box and packed a whole box of them for my parents to share with us when we go see them next week. When I was a child, my Great Grandma Doris would give a box of Medjool Dates to each of her grandchildren; my aunts and uncles disdained them. My mom knew enough to snatch them up and we would end up with the extra boxes of dates. Once home we would stretch our stash out to last months. We would get the box out after dinner and have one or two a piece. We would line up the pits and put the papers in our mouths to make muppet mouths. We would mourn the last box and the last date and wonder aloud how long it was until the next Christmas. It was our family tradition that just happened.
My Grandma Doris died about 20 years ago and it is the dates that make me think of her fondly every year. She had no idea that she was creating that memory for me; she was just sending a nice gift to her grandkids. It could just have easily been a Russel Stovers chocolate box (but those are easier to find in Nebraska), but it was the kind of dates she had on a trip to California once and liked, and it was a treat for her.
This year I did all of my shopping at small local stores. I appreciated the service and the selection and pace of the stores (no crowds or hysteria) and most especailly I appreciated the relatively easy parking. (I have actually been known to drive to the mall and then leave because I could not deal with the parking lot.) But, the dates came from Trader Joe's and to get to Trader Joe's I had to go to the Mall. That is a different holiday shopping story. Bill drove.
"Where are we going to park?" I wondered aloud as I looked at the ridiculous number of cars circling the lot looking for a spot.
"We're just going to drive to the front row. No one ever thinks to just go there," Bill said.
And in that instant I was reminded of my dad who has a similar philosophy. And sure enough, there was a spot in the front row. And once inside Trader Joe's the first thing I found was Grandma Doris Dates. It was the Christmas Miracle. And the Christmas Memory.
If this were a Hallmark Christmas Special, Grandma Doris would be looking down from Heaven and making sure that I got front row parking to the store that had The Dates. But yeah, I don't believe in stuff like that. I do think that my dad and my husband are right about just going for the front row parking against all odds, and I think that Grandma Doris had great taste in dried fruit and I feel a bit triumphant that I get to share some dates with my parents and my sister who appreciate them the same way I do.
I would send you a medjool date, but you wouldn't appreciate it as much as my sister Kate. I will send you my good will and my sincere wish that you find the magical Christmas Memory that is important to you.
The father was of course trying to reach the parenting pincale - the Magical Christmas Memory. He was well meaning and even knew that he might be wrong, but he could not resist. He wanted her excited smile on Christmas morning (which would happen anyway), he wanted to see her prefer those twin dolls to all other dolls and insist for a year that they go everywhere with her, and he most especially wanted her to wistfully say when she was an adult, "Oh, dad, do you remember the Christmas I got the twin dolls?" On principle I don't like Christmas, and this is why, but there are Christmas traditions that are meaningful to me - walks in the cold (I like Christmas Eve walks and Christmas morning walks), Midnight Mass, buckeyes (those chocolate covered peanutbutter balls made by my Aunt Mary Jane who included "a bottle of wine" in the list of ingredients when she handed out the recipe - "The wine isn't in the Buckeyes, it's to drink while you make em!" she cackled.), and Grandma Doris Dates.
No one calls them Grandma Doris Dates except my mom and dad and sister, I think. "I found the Grandma Doris Dates," I told my mom on the phone as I talked about my weekend shopping. I put a couple in a cellophane bag for my sister's gift box and packed a whole box of them for my parents to share with us when we go see them next week. When I was a child, my Great Grandma Doris would give a box of Medjool Dates to each of her grandchildren; my aunts and uncles disdained them. My mom knew enough to snatch them up and we would end up with the extra boxes of dates. Once home we would stretch our stash out to last months. We would get the box out after dinner and have one or two a piece. We would line up the pits and put the papers in our mouths to make muppet mouths. We would mourn the last box and the last date and wonder aloud how long it was until the next Christmas. It was our family tradition that just happened.
My Grandma Doris died about 20 years ago and it is the dates that make me think of her fondly every year. She had no idea that she was creating that memory for me; she was just sending a nice gift to her grandkids. It could just have easily been a Russel Stovers chocolate box (but those are easier to find in Nebraska), but it was the kind of dates she had on a trip to California once and liked, and it was a treat for her.
This year I did all of my shopping at small local stores. I appreciated the service and the selection and pace of the stores (no crowds or hysteria) and most especailly I appreciated the relatively easy parking. (I have actually been known to drive to the mall and then leave because I could not deal with the parking lot.) But, the dates came from Trader Joe's and to get to Trader Joe's I had to go to the Mall. That is a different holiday shopping story. Bill drove.
"Where are we going to park?" I wondered aloud as I looked at the ridiculous number of cars circling the lot looking for a spot.
"We're just going to drive to the front row. No one ever thinks to just go there," Bill said.
And in that instant I was reminded of my dad who has a similar philosophy. And sure enough, there was a spot in the front row. And once inside Trader Joe's the first thing I found was Grandma Doris Dates. It was the Christmas Miracle. And the Christmas Memory.
If this were a Hallmark Christmas Special, Grandma Doris would be looking down from Heaven and making sure that I got front row parking to the store that had The Dates. But yeah, I don't believe in stuff like that. I do think that my dad and my husband are right about just going for the front row parking against all odds, and I think that Grandma Doris had great taste in dried fruit and I feel a bit triumphant that I get to share some dates with my parents and my sister who appreciate them the same way I do.
I would send you a medjool date, but you wouldn't appreciate it as much as my sister Kate. I will send you my good will and my sincere wish that you find the magical Christmas Memory that is important to you.
posted by Lea at 7:23 PM
1 Comments:
...but you've forgotten the teddybears that sat in front on all the gifts and the Christmas tree that you knew were meant for you. Trumped by medjool dates!
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