Mid-Winter Memories

I remember winter breaks when I was young. My sister and I would get dropped off at Nana’s house, my mother driving us in the old, powder blue Chevy Nova that made the sputtering noises as if it would die any minute. Joy and I would make bets as to when it would finally expire, but it never seemed to care.

We would pull up to the house in the early morning hours grumpy to be awakened at such an hour during vacation. Nana always waited for us just inside the front door. We could see her silhouette outlined against the glass, past the ripped screen, in her bathrobe and fuzzy slippers.

Of course we were bundled up to face the elements in our big, puffy coats with frayed scarves and knitted caps. The crumbling front steps of Nana’s house were a welcome sight because we had seen them countless times before, and they felt like home. Nana felt like home when she opened that door and enveloped the both of us in her arms, a big smile on her face as she ushered us inside.

We quickly shed those outer layers because Nana always kept the house as “hot as hell,” our Uncle Nolly would always say. He lived with her because he had nowhere else to go, and he was constantly blessing us when we entered. I was never sure if his blessings were real or not, but I always felt like I couldn’t make fun of him for it because they might be. Uncle Nolly was blind, but he had an uncanny knowledge of where we were at all times when we were in the house, and he would mumble as such, even when we were trying to hide. He often smelled of smoke, which was comforting in its own way

We would pass by his chair on our way into the dining room where Nana would have hot chocolate waiting for us. Of course it was rarely ever still hot by that point, but those chipped mugs were as familiar to us as our own names. My mom was long gone, and we began to take bets as to her mood when she would come back to retrieve us from our winter’s day. Some mornings the 8-track player would already be on, providing a subtle soundtrack to our conversation that was always well-scripted.

Then it was time to play. Joy and I made up games to play while Nana relaxed in the living room with her shows. We would hear them in the background while the 8-track still played from the other room. I think perhaps she forgot she even had the music on, so subtle it was. But we would play those made-up games with our toys and with whatever we could find in Nana’s house to play with. The only rooms off-limits were Uncle Nolly’s bedroom and Nana’s bedroom, but we sometimes found ourselves in both if the mood struck.

We created a dangerous game by going down the stairs on our bellies, seeing how quickly we could reach the bottom without flailing out of control. Sometimes we would still flail out of control and hurt ourselves, and we were always soothed by Nana and blessed by Uncle Nolly. At those times Nana would comfort us, holding whichever one was hurt on her lap while she continued to watch her programs. I can still hear them in my mind’s ear, the sounds of Bob Barker and Richard Dawson like old friends.

The mailman would arrive shortly therafter and share a cup of tea with Nana while she went through her Publisher’s Clearinghouse, her bills, her letters, and her newspaper. While they chatted Joy and I would try to surprise Uncle Nolly. It was our favorite game, seeing if he would catch us at it but hoping he wouldn’t. It was the quietest we ever were, as surreal as it all was.

Then it was time for Days of Our Lives, and General Hospital, and those mid-day talk shows. We never went outside on those days, preferring instead to sit in that sweltering house and watch that old television set with Nana. Even to this day, watching those shows brings back those deep-seated mid-winter memories of Joy, Nana, Uncle Nolly, and me. The smell of smoke, the sound of the 8-track player always in the background, the feel of “walking” down the stairs head-first.

Then my mom would return. We always heard her before she parked the car, our clothes already on, knowing she wouldn’t want to wait around for us. Nana would envelop us once again in her arms before we left, but we knew we would be back the next day to replay the scenario once again, as long as the car didn’t break down.

Sam