Having been tagged four times over with the same meme I thought it best to write out twenty things about me that you may not know in four parts of five. Those who pung (pinged) me were Jecklin, Tony, Franky and Range.
The first five are about family and tradition.
My grandmother turns 93 this year on Christmas Day. She has two living sisters who are in their nineties’. She lives independently in her own apartment. Go grammie! I love you!
Christmas Eve saw my family and I routinely visiting my great aunt Sister *Loulabelle at the Convent. It was a gothic maze of gorgeous wooden and plaster architecture in which we were only permitted to travel into visitor allowed rooms. Next stop was my mysterious great uncle *William’s. His apartment was an eccentric living history museum! Then on we went to the Cathedral for mass. After preying my heart out we travelled to my Grandmother and Grandfather’s where much of the family spent Christmas Eve. It was always crowded with family too many to count. Usually around midnight we would travel back to our own family home and each open one gift.
In grade three at the age of eight I concluded that Santa’s handwriting appeared ever so similar to my mother and father’s. My mom politely asked me to keep it a secret from my brother. I advised my parents to not use the same wrapping paper or penmanship when wrapping gifts from Santa. My brother being two and half years younger, still needed to be protected from the truth. Man, it was one of the hardest secrets I had to carry. I think at age 11, I began hinting that Santa was not real; that he had lived long ago as Chris Cringle but that his spirit still visited us every year. I may have begun pointing out that mom and dad’s handwriting appeared to look a lot like Santa’s to my brother. I was the older sister and could not carry the burden of “knowing” any longer.
My favorite gifts to open were the one’s located in my stocking. I’d gather to guess that it was also my brother’s. One year my brother and I awoke on Christmas Day, wondered downstairs at the standard 4:00AM wake-up time to find many many more stockings than we could carry. There was one for our collie, one for each cat, one for my grandfather, one each for mom and dad and our own. We had a tradition of carrying them all upstairs to to our parents bedroom all at once to open them in bed. We sat dumbfounded not knowing how to accomplish this task. The stockings seemed extra heavy this year and we would not break the tradition of bringing them all up at once. How this tradition began I have long sense forgotten. We sat for an hour staring at the Christmas tree and gifts all the while becoming all the more excited, frantically waiting for 5AM to chime from the hallway clock. That was the time we thought it would be safe to awake our parents from slumber. At five o’clock, my brother peered over to me while I at him, both wide-eyed and crazy, we gathered up the eight stockings tenuously gripping four a piece. Not once, not twice but perhaps thrice we needed to stop and help eachother pick up fallen wrapped miniature gifts. We heaved them onto our parents bed yelling “Wake up it’s Christmas!”. At the same time we felt bad but really, we couldn’t help it as either of us hadn’t slept at all that Christmas Eve and knew come 11:00AM we, the Doyle family, would all be napping.
These are the first five. I will tag Communicatrix. Tomorrow another female will be tagged. You are it!