Grandma's Whacky, Weird, and Wonderful Gifts

It was 1990, the year of big changes for my three daughters and for me. I had moved them to a new town, school, and a life without their father. It took me standing up for my county to finally stand up for myself. I had been a leader in a nuclear dump fight. Through this engagement, connections had been made that helped us find a beautiful home to rent out in the country. We were starting over.

I felt guilty for not having enough money to provide a Christmas for my children. I had left with a station wagon, three kids, and a dog. My mother had put her parent's furniture in storage after they had died. Lucky for me, she sent me the key to the storage unit and told me to use whatever we needed. We needed everything.

I had gone back to college and was jobless. Taking care of the girls and keeping up my grades was a full-time job. In August, I had wandered reluctantly into Social Services to apply for Food Stamps, Rental Assitance, and help with utilities. It had been humbling.

In November, I tried my hand at waitressing and bartending to provide the girls with Christmas gifts. I had no experience with either and soon realized that the big bully boss lady was going to play me like a cat with a mouse. To make things worse, it was hunting season. Some of those hunters were after more than food and drink. Scared, that I would be followed home; I quit. After eating another piece of humble pie, papers were filled out to apply for Christmas help from the local school, and the Catholic Church.

I was starting to believe that things would be ok. One of the teachers came a few days before Christmas with wrapped gifts. Santa would still have presents to place under our tree on Christmas Eve. A member of the Catholic Church brought a turkey and everything for Christmas dinner. I was overwhelmed by the generosity of strangers. Little did I know that Christmas was about to get stranger!

Snow was gently falling outside. While gathering wood for the fireplace, I felt like I had stepped into a Christmas card. The tall Spruce trees by the road were laden with snow. Smoke swirled from the chimney and a cold wind made me thankful that we had a fire inside. The kids emptied a box of ornaments that came with us when we moved. Most of them were made in art class or by the 4 of us over the years. Six-year-old, Amanda, played with the Manger Scene. Lisa and Laura had found the Chipmunks Christmas CD. Alvin, Simon, and Theodore serenaded us as we prepared for Christmas with Grandma and Grandpa.

My parents had been married for 27 years. They had seven children together. The first was born when she was 18 and the last was when she was 33. The older kids had a different life than the younger ones. They were raised at a time when my parents got along. The younger ones experienced a lot of fighting and watched as my parents tried to survive the 60s raising teenagers and toddlers at the same time!

My mother remarried when I was a Senior in High School. My Dad had been dating the same woman since my parents split up. I was 13 then. We really liked his girlfriend. Dad did too. She was safe. Mom had broken his heart. He was not in love with her, but she was a good companion. My mother’s husband had died recently. She wanted to be with us for Christmas and had planned her flight for Christmas Eve. I was forced to ask Dad to pick her up. I needed to be home to prepare the meal and take care of the children. I hoped it would not be too awkward and that they could be civil. Their relationship had ended badly.

We heard the car pull up and ran out to greet my parents. Up the walk dragging a large suitcase filled with brown bread that she had managed to bake in coffee cans and bring from Florida to New York, came my mother. Dad dragged another large suitcase filled with gifts.

Mom was decked out in a Christmas sweater covered in sequins. Her nails were bright red with little Christmas trees painted on them. The color of her lipstick matched her nails. My girls were so taken with her. Her hair had been colored strawberry blonde, cut, and permed. She looked glamorous. She always did.

A bottle of Lieb Frau Milch was uncorked and poured into glasses. The table was dressed with my Grandmother’s lace tablecloth and a centerpiece that I had made from pine cones picked up from the yard. We filled our bellies full of turkey, stuffing, potatoes, and all the good food that the church had provided for us. I noticed that my parents were getting along. In fact, they were getting along too well! I peeked under the table and my mother was playing footsie with my father. Her foot was going up his pant leg. I almost spit out my wine! Thankful that the children were begging to open their gifts from Grandma: I moved everyone into the living room where my mother's feet and hands were in plain site!

Lisa who had just turned 13, opened her gift first. Panic was written all over her face, not really sure what the pinkish-gray peeling item that she held in her hands was. It was a panty girdle that had belonged to my older sister 25 years ago. I could not believe that my mother still had it. I explained to my daughter that it was to hold her tummy in. The look on her face told me what she was thinking, “Grandma thinks that I am fat”! I wondered if my mother had lost her mind.

Next was 9-year-old, Laura. She opened up a small handbag filled with my mother’s old make-up. It was not just old! It was ancient! My mind was racing with thoughts of her catching a disease from the lipstick or breaking out in hives. Laura was thrilled. She wanted make-up and I thought she was too young. Grandma was the best in her eyes. I was devising a plan to have it mysteriously disappear. Would she believe that a twisted elf named Greenie stole her makeup!? This was getting really weird.

Last but not least, was little Amanda. She opened up her package and it contained the necklace made from painted macaroni that she had made for her Grandmother at summer camp. She looked like she might cry. I took her aside and told her it was ok. She said, “Grandma hates me. She gave me back the gift that I gave to her”. I explained that she liked it so much that she wanted Amanda to have it because it was so special. Maybe my mother was getting dementia!

I was next. I opened up a gift box that contained a pea-green tie-dyed pantsuit. My mother had worn it the last time that we were together. I made the mistake of telling her that she looked really nice in it. She wanted me to wear it now. It had shoulder pads and the pants were cut strangely. I would look like I had escaped boot camp for Jeanies! I acted like it was great. My mother had lost it! I was about to wish that I could put her back in a bottle and make three wishes. She looked fine in the I Dream of Jeanie Pants! Not me!!

After dessert, I suggested that my father go out to the car and bring in the rest of my Mom’s bags. I told her where she would be sleeping. To our surprise and perhaps my father's too, she announced that she was going home with my Dad and there was no need to get her things. She would see us all on Christmas day when we gathered at his house.

Now, things were really getting strange. The weird presents, my mother sleeping with my father, and suddenly my world was getting weirder by the minute. I had little sleep that night. I was concerned that my mother was trying to send us a message. Maybe she had lost all of her money? Perhaps, she had a serious hoarding issue and could not throw anything out? Was she trying to teach us a lesson?

We dressed in our holiday clothes on Christmas day, which was my excuse for not wearing the pantsuit. Mom and Dad were drinking Bloody Marys and basking in the afterglow when we arrived. I asked Dad if Mom gave him a present. He kept avoiding answering me. I later found out that she had gifted him with a tuxedo that was missing an arm. What the heck?! My mother was a successful real estate agent. I imagined that she sold a house that a one-armed man had lived in. He had left behind his tux and she thought she got a bargain.

After Christmas, I called my brother, Bob, who lives in the Adirondacks. I was dying to know what Mom gave to them. He and his wife are Catholic. My mother found a clock that had Jesus on the pendulum and was supposed to play Amazing Grace. They put the batteries in and hung the clock. To their surprise, Jesus was swinging back and forth to She’ll be Coming Around the Mountain When she Comes! It must have been in the bargain bin!! This was becoming a game. I wanted that clock. I thought it would be a great conversation piece!

Every year, we looked forward to seeing what crazy thing my mother had sent to us. Our friends could not wait to find out too. This went on for years. The year my mother died, we found out that she was a millionaire. She left everything to her seven children. It was a nice surprise but not nearly as fun as her whacky and bizarre gifts. We also learned on the last few visits before she died that she had a serious hoarding issue. She had a pie in the freezer that was 30 years old! She had 60 bars of soap under her bathroom sink. The list goes on. It was a big job for my older brother and sister who settled her estate. Money and Travelers' Checks were hidden in books, jammed in drawers, and stuffed under mattresses.

The Christmas after Mom died, Lisa was 25 years old. She took it upon herself to write a letter to all of the family members. It went like this: Holidays have always been special because of my Grandma’s gifts. She was especially notorious for her Christmas presents. Each year we would eagerly await her packages. You never knew what you would get: a stained shirt of hers that you once complimented her on, a purple and silver stuffed reindeer or a set of plastic coasters from a restaurant that she had once visited. My family would gather together with their gifts and ponder upon the reasons why she would send such outrageous things. Could it be that she was broke? Or was she just cheap? Now that I am facing a Christmas without my Grandma’s gifts, I think I get it. For her, the act of giving was way more important than what she could give. I have seen her spend countless hours knitting baby hats and booties for children that she has never and will never meet. These gifts brought joy to indigent families. I took it for granted for too many years. My Grandma has given me one last gift and it is a gift that will last a lifetime: graciousness comes in many forms and one should always be open to what another can give. Being able to give is one of the greatest gifts a human is given. And my Grandma was a great human, indeed.

In honor of Marie Smith, we invite you to participate in a gift exchange. You have been chosen to send a gift to ____________. The idea is to send something to this person that Marie would have chosen for them. It is okay and encouraged to regift items that you have received from Marie in the past. We hope that this will keep Marie’s spirit alive, and continue to make our Christmas merry and bright. Happy Holidays! Love, Lisa

And, so it continues. Each year we look forward to the shock value of the most outrageous gift that we can find. My mother really was one in a million. She took leftover food to those in her community that had little. She volunteered to help feed veterans in a local nursing home, read to Kindergarten children each week, and knitted hats for babies born at the hospital in St. Pete where she lived.

She died on New Year's Eve. When my family left the hospital, there were fireworks. It was appropriate for Mom to go out with a bang! She was still working at age 79 and closed on a house when she was in the hospital. Her life was unique. Her spirit and light still guide us. We will keep the Grandma Gifts going! Whacky, weird, and wonderful is what Christmas is for us. We draw numbers and pick a wrapped gift. Then we steal from each other. We honor her memory by stealing sugar packets off the table at a restaurant, collecting soap and lotions from hotel stays, saving those little umbrellas that come in a fancy drink, or rescuing the broken item from the discount bin. The game must go on. My mother made sure she would never be forgotten. Perhaps that is what she really wanted us to learn.