Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Christmas Miracles
I start every post with some variation of "I know it's been awhile...," so I'm going to skip the intro and just dive into it. 'Tis the season of yule (whatever that means) so I thought I'd share a magical memory from Christmases past - Julie Guptill style.
I'm not sure how old I was exactly, my guess is around 11 or 12, when my great-aunt invited me to go with her church's youth group to visit a local nursing home to sing Christmas carols, decorate cookies and other such merriment. I dressed in my finest Christmas sweater and waited for her to pick me up. We pulled up to the nursing home and let ourselves in the front entrance. As soon as I stepped in the door, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only was it 115 degrees in the cramped common room, where the residents were gathered, but the smell was too pungent for words. Now, I'm not just talking about the "nursing home" smell. (You know what smell I'm talking about.) That, I think, I could have handled. After all, my mother and grandfather have both worked in a nursing home for years, so I've experienced the run-of-the-mill old people odor and knew what to expect. But, apparently this particular nursing home was a "smoking friendly" establishment - which seems counter-intuitive to me. The heavy, heavy smell of stale cigarettes, coupled with nursing home stench of old people, urine and outdated meds was stomach churning. Suddenly, my face felt flush and I had to get out of my heavy sweater. I pulled it over my head, while humming along with the other children to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." My aunt sang along as well, but narrowed her eyes at me, watching the rosy red drain from my cheeks before her very eyes. I looked around the room and saw an out - the common room linked to the kitchen, where I could see a back door to the outside. I started to inch my way towards the exit, but just as I reached the perimeter of the room, knew I wasn't going to make it.
I whipped around, lunged for a nearby rubbish barrel and threw up. The carolers stopped singing and all turned to see what all the commotion was about. Out of the corner of my eye, as I lurched over the barrel, I could see the crowd cringe. The minute I straightened up, my aunt led me back to the car and drove me back to my house. We hadn't even reached the refrain; Rudolph didn't even get the chance to save the day.
When my aunt pulled up to the curb, I got out, mumbled an apology and headed up the porch steps. My mother opened the door and my aunt gave a quick honk before she pulled away, heading back to the church group. "Why are you home so --- oh, my God! Why do you smell so bad? You smell like smoke...and throw up." I don't think I had ever been so happy to be home, and to be headed toward the shower.
Of all my holiday memories involving vomit (there are MANY more), this one might be my favorite. So, with that - a Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a goodnight.
I'm not sure how old I was exactly, my guess is around 11 or 12, when my great-aunt invited me to go with her church's youth group to visit a local nursing home to sing Christmas carols, decorate cookies and other such merriment. I dressed in my finest Christmas sweater and waited for her to pick me up. We pulled up to the nursing home and let ourselves in the front entrance. As soon as I stepped in the door, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only was it 115 degrees in the cramped common room, where the residents were gathered, but the smell was too pungent for words. Now, I'm not just talking about the "nursing home" smell. (You know what smell I'm talking about.) That, I think, I could have handled. After all, my mother and grandfather have both worked in a nursing home for years, so I've experienced the run-of-the-mill old people odor and knew what to expect. But, apparently this particular nursing home was a "smoking friendly" establishment - which seems counter-intuitive to me. The heavy, heavy smell of stale cigarettes, coupled with nursing home stench of old people, urine and outdated meds was stomach churning. Suddenly, my face felt flush and I had to get out of my heavy sweater. I pulled it over my head, while humming along with the other children to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." My aunt sang along as well, but narrowed her eyes at me, watching the rosy red drain from my cheeks before her very eyes. I looked around the room and saw an out - the common room linked to the kitchen, where I could see a back door to the outside. I started to inch my way towards the exit, but just as I reached the perimeter of the room, knew I wasn't going to make it.
I whipped around, lunged for a nearby rubbish barrel and threw up. The carolers stopped singing and all turned to see what all the commotion was about. Out of the corner of my eye, as I lurched over the barrel, I could see the crowd cringe. The minute I straightened up, my aunt led me back to the car and drove me back to my house. We hadn't even reached the refrain; Rudolph didn't even get the chance to save the day.
When my aunt pulled up to the curb, I got out, mumbled an apology and headed up the porch steps. My mother opened the door and my aunt gave a quick honk before she pulled away, heading back to the church group. "Why are you home so --- oh, my God! Why do you smell so bad? You smell like smoke...and throw up." I don't think I had ever been so happy to be home, and to be headed toward the shower.
Of all my holiday memories involving vomit (there are MANY more), this one might be my favorite. So, with that - a Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a goodnight.
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