The Trefoil Muse

I’ve been entrusted with a very special gift.  Papa asked me to take care of it for him. It’s a gift for my Nana.

We decorated their house today for Christmas.  Well; Nana and I decorated – Papa sat in his big easy chair and grumbled in his best hum drum Grinch like renditions.

Papa’s attitude doesn’t seem to bother Nana.  She’s got him figured out.  She absolutely has his number. She’s known the key to him for a very long time.  Let’s just say, she’s one smart Christmas cookie.

My Papa has a loud booming voice. His voice can be frightening if you don’t know him like we do.  Nana explained to us Grandchildren a long time ago that Papa was like the marshmallow man – hard and crusty on the outside and soft and mushy on the inside.  So, we aren’t fooled by Papa’s loud cranky act anymore.  Like Nana, we all know that he’s just a big old softie.

“I don’t know why you put yourself through this every year,” he harrumphed to Nana after grouchily ordering her to move out of the way of the television because she was blocking his viewing pleasure.

“I like the extra light and glitter from the tree,” Nana replied demurely.  “Not to mention the vibrant Christmas colors and ambience it brings during the darkness of winter,” she smiled.  “Feel the love,” Nana giggled as she threw and imaginary air kiss in his direction.  Papa shifted uncomfortably in his chair and pretended to be irritated by Nana’s gesture. Their drama made me laugh.  As grumpy as Papa acts, he is enamored with Nana!

To be honest, the small living room was a disaster.  Boxes of ornaments, ribbon and tinsel littered the coffee table, couch and floor.  My Grandparent’s two dogs were curled up on what seemed the only available space of carpet and their cat lay beneath their artificial tree in the corner. The tree at the moment was barren other than twinkling colorful lights.

It seemed like disorganized confusion to me but Nana knew what lay stored in every box.  I was excited to help decorate their tree.

“This is the box we’ll start with,” Nana grinned opening an old shoe box like it was a pirate trunk holding treasure.

Just then, the oven timer sounded.

My Nana is an expert at multi-tasking.  She was baking and doing laundry while decorating the house with me for Christmas.

“I’ll be right back,” she chirped cheerily as she floated over the sleeping dogs without disturbing so much as one hair on their backs then around the myriad of boxes littering her path to the kitchen with nimble agility that surprised me.  My eyes could have deceived me but for a second, I was sure she had wings! I blinked though and they disappeared. It could only have been my imagination.

The house smelled divine. (If there’s a heaven, I’m sure it smells like Nana’s house. No matter the time of year, there’s always an alluring, mouth watering scent in the air.)  During Christmas season, it smells sweet, spicy and mint chocolaty with undertones of smoky pine.  Earlier today, Nana had baked ginger snaps and shortbread cookies.  Now, she was pulling butter tarts out of the oven.  She’d confided in me earlier that she wasn’t fond of butter tarts because they are too sweet for her liking, but that they were a favorite of Papa’s so she made them for him as a special treat every Christmas.

Butter tarts have raisons.

 I don’t like raisons.

Speaking of raisons, you have to watch my Nana.  She is extremely kind with an excellent sense of humor but can be a devious trickster. Being a smart cookie, you never see Nana’s pranks coming!  Let me explain:

One time, when I was younger and visiting, Nana gave me some cookies for a snack. Before I tried one, I asked what type they were. She said they were dried grape cookies.  I do like grapes!  They’re delicious.  So, I tried a bite. The cookie was delectable. Part way through my second cookie, Nana asked if I knew what a dried grape was.  Being an innocent, I said, “No.”  You can’t imagine my horror when Nana, smiling from ear to ear, told me that a dried grape was the same as a raison!  Then, she had the audacity to say that is important to try ingredients in different ways because you might like it one way but not another, and at least now, I would know that I liked raison cookies!

Another time, she got me to taste straight cocoa before she mixed it into icing sugar for a cake she was frosting. It was disgusting, bitter and dry. When she tried to get me to taste the chocolate frosting, my eyes bulged and I shook my head.  Again, she grinned from ear to ear and actually started to laugh as she tried to convince me that this spoonful would taste good. I didn’t really trust her but I tried a taste.  The icing sugar had transformed the cocoa into something wonderful.  Still, I’m not sure I’ve forgiven her for the bitter cocoa tasting and, I don’t like raisons in butter tarts!  There are a few in our family who don’t, so Nana bakes a special batch for us without ‘dried grapes,’ thank goodness!

I can see from where I’m standing near the Christmas tree that Nana has the tarts out of the oven and has placed them on the cooling rack.  Now, she’s heading to the laundry room to put wet clothes in the dryer.  There is a door going outside from the laundry room and apparently the dogs think she is taking them for a walk. The living room has erupted into chaos as both dogs try to beat the other to the door first, trampling the cat who decided it should check out the new eats in the kitchen along with Papa.

Looks like Papa lost the trek to the kitchen. Their big lab just bumped him as he was about to stand-up knocking him off balance and pushing him back into his easy chair.  He’s perturbed and trying very hard not to cuss in front of me.

I can’t help it.  It’s comedy at its finest.  I burst out laughing.  “I’m sorry, Papa. It really looked funny.”

Papa really looked grouchy now.  He had his best Grinch face on.

Nana re-emerged from the laundry room completely unaware of the chaos.  She then arranged some cookies and tarts onto a plate for our taste testing pleasure.

When she came back into the living room, she placed the baked goodies on a coffee table near Papa.

“Careful, the tarts are still pretty warm,” she warned.  “I’d have put more of the shortbread cookies out but it seems someone couldn’t resist them.”

Papa finally smiled.  “You really do make the best shortbread cookies I’ve ever tasted,” he gushed without guilt.

“Yes,” she chided.  “I’ve found the key to your heart.  It’s your stomach! That’s the last of the shortbread cookies and it’s the second batch.  Now, I’m out of butter and can’t make more unless we get some groceries.”

“We’ll go later,” Papa motioned in my direction. “I have a bit of last minute shopping to do still.”

“That sounds great.  I’ll make a small list for you to pick-up and I’ll finish decorating while you’re gone,” Nana nodded in agreement, “but, I’d like to get the ornaments on the tree before you leave.”

Nana smiled as she pulled a little ornament out of the old shoe box.  “This has always been a favorite of mine. Your Dad made this when he was in Elementary school.” She held the little ornament gently.  It was a tiny woolen mouse with felt ears lying in a hazel nut shell. As she hung it on the tree I looked inside the box to see many of the little trinkets and ornaments made by us grandchildren as well.  Most of them I recognized as they decorated the tree yearly like the little felt snowman and penguin or the Plaster of Paris hand prints of each grandchild painted then hung with a ribbon.  A variety of angels, glittering balls, snowflakes and icicles lay inside the box along with bells.

“I like to put the bells close to the bottom of the tree,” Nana advised.  “The cat’s favorite spot is under the tree while its up and she plays with them. I like hearing her make the bells ring. Did you know that some people believe that when a bell rings, a new angel is born?  I think we can use as many of them as we can get.” Nana rang the little bell furiously.  “I believe there are multitudes of angels around at Christmas time. They help to open people’s hearts and spread love.  Can you feel them? I can!”

“Did you and Nana ever have real trees?” I asked Papa trying to involve him in the decorating process.

He and Nana exchanged knowing glances and started to laugh.

“Our Charlie Brown trees,” they said in unison.

“Yes, we did,” Papa shared.

“Every one of them had character,” Nana laughed.

“All of them had some type of defect or huge branchless holes! We never managed to get the perfect tree.” Papa stated mater-of-factly,   “But, your Nana managed to make them look pretty good!”

“The first year we got married,” Nana shared, “we didn’t have a lot of money so we had no tree stand. Instead, we had a bucket filled with rocks to stand it in but it kept falling over. Finally, I got some string wound it around the tree and tacked the string to the wall.  That tree had more than one bald spot which I filled with tinsel. It actually turned out to be quite beautiful.”

“Then there’s the year I ran over an evergreen tree at the end of our driveway with the semi-trailer,” Papa shook his head and rolled his eyes. “It was flattened on one side with no branches but your Nana being who she is took an ax and finished cutting it down. Then she drug it up the driveway to the house and decorated it for Christmas.”

“Well, I couldn’t see killing another tree when you’d already mowed one down!” Nana defended.  “Besides, that turned out to be the most magical tree we ever had.  I put the flattened side toward the wall.  You couldn’t really tell…”

“Yes you could!” Papa argued incredulous.

Nana’s eyes sparkled and she started to giggle.  “Do you remember the presents around that tree by the time Christmas came? And, we had so much company. It was such a memorable year. That was the most magical little tree we ever had.  Plus, I believe that’s the last real tree we had.  After that, we got an artificial one because out here on the prairie, trees are hard to grow so I’ve come to appreciate the ones that grow everywhere else.  It’s such a shame to cut them down.”

An unusual softness seemed to envelop Papa as we shared memories of their Charlie brown trees and past Christmas’ not to mention that he seemed to really be enjoying the baking within his easy reach.

I watched as he wolfed down another butter tart eyes alight with every bite of the sweet morsel.  Nana being the smart cookie she is knew full well what the key to Papa was.  His hum drum Grinch behavior had never fooled her for an instant.

Finally, Papa and I left Nana and made the 45 minute jaunt to town for groceries and a bit of last minute shopping.  They live on a farm away from the hectic towns and cities where the landscape is pristine with clean fallen snow. It’s extremely pretty and I enjoy the drive into town. It’s fun shopping with Papa.  He buys in bulk and you never really know what he’s going purchase – groceries aside.

We arrived in the nearest town glistening with snow, lights and festive Christmas decorations.  People milled along sidewalks and clustered here and there perusing store windows before entering.  Papa and I hit the grocery store and quickly amassed Nana’s shopping list then we headed for the mall.

Strained, rushed shoppers clamored along the hallway mindlessly bumping into one another.  We just drifted along with the flow until something caught Papa’s eye and he stopped.

“Let’s go in here,” he pointed.  The store was bright and adorned from ceiling to floor with Christmas glamour.  Papa went straight to the counter and spoke to the clerk who then retrieved the item Papa requested from a backroom in the store.   I was surprised at the speed of the purchase.  As well, it was the end of the shopping excursion.

“Did you know,” Papa asked on the way out of the mall, “that God put angels on earth without wings so that they could blend in and not be discovered?”

“No, I didn’t,” I answered confused.

“Your Nana’s an angel. Even after 40 years, she still has the key to my heart,” he whispered. “If you catch her in the light just right, you can see her wings.” He confided in awe.

When we got back to the truck, Papa handed me the gift. “I’m going to trust you to take care of this gift for me until Christmas. I commissioned it for your Nana months ago.  This will be our little secret.” He opened the gift box to reveal its contents. Lying inside on a soft bed of cotton was a small golden key embossed with wings shaped like a heart at its crown. Down the stem of the key words were engraved, “For my angel.”

I’ve been entrusted with a very special gift.  Papa asked me to take care of it for him. It’s a gift for my Nana but it’s an actual key to Papa’s heart.  This gift giving season is going to be epic.

As Papa bent over to start the ignition, the light touched his head just right. That’s when it happened – I saw his halo!

May you all have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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