Yule Ramblings #13: The Heavenly One

My grandma used to drink Chardonnay and watch horror movies. She was so nifty. Her adorably pocket-sized stature starkly contrasted her gargantuan personality. This femme could don a a turtleneck, a pastel sweater and a lengthy gold pendant necklace like no other. She was dainty, yes, but far from delicate - she was a flipping powerhouse in the kitchen. I mean, she was the culinary combination of Wonder Woman, Michelangelo and Giada De Laurentiis: a piquant cookery force to be reckoned with, a kitchen-esque artiste. How her itty bitty 90-pound frame produced some of the largest, most delectable spreads I've ever seen and tasted... Wow. Mind. Blowing. Explosive.

It would piss my mother off to great lengths when I would eat an entire meal (dessert included) at our home, visit Grandma's house, and engage in the following exchange -

Grandma: Jeet jet? (Pittsburgese for "Did you eat yet?")

Me: No. (A total lie.)

Grandma: What? Your parents ever feed you?

Me: Nope. (Another compete and utter lie.)

I couldn't help myself. I would spew deceit. Mom would be fuming. But Grandma would've already started to whip up something amazing: turkey pot pie, garlic noodles, Jell-O cake, lemon chicken... *Sigh* Sure, it was sinful, but oh, it was scrumptious.

When she was upset with you, well, you would know it was coming when she'd pivot your direction and bounce her tiny pointer finger your way. "I have a bone to pick with you."

Well. OK, Grandma. Whoa now. Whatever it is. Whatever I've done. Well, you got me. I wasn't messing with her... Man, I miss her. She didn't live to meet our son. But she left me a voicemail when she found out that I was pregnant: "Brittany, it's NaNa and Pap, you hear? Your father told us the news. We are just (pause) tickled (pause) pink. Alight? You hear? You HEAR? We love you and Colby. And we are praying for you. Alright. (pause) We love you." I still have that voicemail on my phone. Grandma was deeply religious. She attended church on the reg, lived two doors down from a friary and displayed a crucifix in just about every room in her home. And she was simply drawn to angels... she had this vast and impressive collection above her bed, on her end tables and tucked away safely in her curio cabinet. Angels make me smile because they made Grandma smile.

Which brings me to my ornament of the day: A cherub. Grandma gifted me this porcelain evergreen accessory in 1986.

The fella (or lady?) is off-white with just the slightest, lightest tinge of gray... the color of clouds just as they begin to swell with raindrops; little gems which will embark on a journey that will revive the earth.

Angels are messengers from the spiritual realm. The childlike cherub, specifically, calls upon the beauty of the small, innocent and tender. Its wings are reminders of transcendence and flight, operating with subtle hints that there's more to this dance of life than the physical plane. The lyre, I imagine, gives off a celestial euphony, a gesture expressing complete harmony.

At first glance, I'll admit it, the ornament is a little bit creepy, you know?

But then again, angels make me smile because they made Grandma smile. As a kid I remember that Grandma would talk of retiring in warm, sunny Florida.

However, she remained here in PA, likely because her children and grandchildren offered her many more powerful, direct and golden rays of sunshine than the self-proclaimed Sunshine State ever possibly could. Even though she's left this world, Grandma remains an effervescent graceful presence among us. I imagine her spirit in sheer euphoria, alongside her parents, her sisters, her eldest son and her husband. She is likely looking across a divine dining table at my grandfather, peering across a towering spread of cinnamon pinwheel cookies, crispy pizzelles and smiley face french fries, chirping: "Fran, Didja hear me? I have a bone to pick with you..." Angels now make me smile because I know Grandma is one of them.