The Ghosts of Christmas Past and Present

I was chatting with someone just a few days ago. I asked them what their plans were for Christmas and they asked me mine.

Oh...how times have changed.

When I was little, my grandparents were the center of the universe and wherever they were - that's where Christmas was.

Initially, Christmas was at the apartment building - 808 Clay Street.

(Pictured: Wayne E. Roy, Irene Roy, Kristina Frazier, Frank Frazier, Patricia S. Frazier - Christmas 1967)

Everyone - my Aunts (Carolyn and Barb), their husbands (Jim and Bob), and my parents, plus me, my sister, and eventually my two cousins - Wendy and Cindy...we all gathered here and celebrated Christmas.

Church was a priority. My great-grandmother (Helena Starost Roy Kline) was a devout catholic and my Grandpa and his three daughters were obedient attenders of catholic mass - especially on Christmas. Cathedral was just a hop, skip and a jump away - which was good because we could walk there and back from the apartment building.

As you can see from this picture, my grandpa is dressed up. This was his "Sunday suit" - or at least that is what I called it. He wasn't one to wear fancy things - but you could count on the suit coming out for Christmas, Easter, weddings, funerals, and baptisms :).

My grandma wasn't much of a church goer. She would stay behind - busying herself in the kitchen. You could always count on pleasant smells (and sometimes unusual as my grandma was known to stray from the typical Christmas feast).

My grandparents moved to Jackson, Michigan sometime in the early 70's.

Even though my family (and Aunt Carolyn's) was in Fort Wayne and Aunt Barb's was in Elkhart - it was never doubted that we would all travel up to Jackson, Michigan and celebrate Christmas together as a family.

(Pictured: Kristina Frazier, Patricia J. Frazier, Cindy Baughman, Wendy Welker - Christmas 1975)

We would usually drive up the day / night before so that my mom and aunt's could help my grandma with all of the cooking.

Grandpa liked to sit in his big, overstuffed brown recliner chair, watching his black and white television, smoking his cigar.

The four cousins - well - we had an absolute blast! I have to tell you that only having one sibling at the time (my sister) was boring and frustrating. Getting to hang with Cindy and Wendy was awesome because it was fresh blood to pick on! Normally though, we'd play board games, dress- up, go out side and sled, etc....There was never a time where we sat around and asked to go home. Being at grandma and grandpa's house was always awesome.

This is where I distinctly remember the grown-ups and kids table. The grown-ups sat around the dining room table and the four girls - well - we got our own table. It was a 4 x 4 card table with folding chairs to boot.

(Pictured: Patricia S. Frazier, Frank Frazier - Christmas dining room table, 1975)

Some other traditions that stand out for me - my grandma allowing us to pick one ornament from the tree to take home and my grandpa getting on the floor and handing out the gifts, one by one. As a kid whose family struggled to make ends meet, Christmas was the motherload from a gift perspective. The night before we opened gifts - none of us girls could hardly sleep.

In the late 70's, my grandparents moved back to Fort Wayne and they lived in the Sheridan Court Apartments on Union Street.

(Pictured: Kristina Frazier, Frank Frazier, Patricia S. Frazier, Patricia J. Frazier, Jason Frazier - Christmas 1978)

This was the very last Christmas that we would spend together as a family unit - that is - me, my siblings, and my parents. My parents split up a month after this and everything in our lives changed.

Despite my parents divorce (and my two aunt's all divorcing and re-marrying), my grandparents had this unspoken thing about keeping the Christmas tradition alive.

In the early eighties, they moved to a house on Third Street. And even though I was in high school and my sister, and cousins were also moving up into "that age", the Christmas tradition was not to be messed with.

The main difference about the house on Third Street is that instead of just visiting it, I also lived there for a period of time. It didn't ruin my excitement about seeing everyone and by this time, I was starting to like some of my grandma's weird food selections :).

(Pictured: Kristina Frazier, Cindy Wilkins, Wendy Welker, Patty Frazier - Christmas 1985)

This picture here - is extremely precious to me. It's the very last photo of me, my sister, and my two cousins...taken with my grandfather. Five months later, he would become very ill and less than a year after that, he died.

Christmas has not been the same since.

My grandma lost the spring in her step and eventually, we all drifted away.

There have been a couple times that an effort has been made for all of us to get together.


(Pictured: Cyndi Wilkins, Kristina Frazier - Christmas, 1994?)

But most of the time, it doesn't happen. Some of it had to do with the strain in the relationships between sisters (my mom and two aunts) and sometimes it was just a question of other obligations and/or distance that some lived away from Fort Wayne.

To be quite honest, there have been several times - holiday or not holiday - where I have chosen not to take part in a family get together because of my own anxiety. Since the death of my grandfather and the multiple changes that my cousins have gone through - I just don't know how to "be" around them. For years, my sister, Cindy, and Wendy - we were glue for each other...Through the second round of siblings (ugh - all boys!), to the divorce of our parents (and their subsequent remarriages). The multiple moves, the multiple dysfunctions of the family (i.e. drugs, alcohol, domestic violence, sexual abuse, depression...). The boyfriends, the jobs, the cars, the booze...

Now, it is as if we don't even know each other.

So you remember, at the beginning of this entry, I said that I was chatting with someone about what our plans were for the Christmas holiday...

After I told this person what I was doing, all of these memories came flooding back to me (in about a span of four seconds). I remember writing to her, "it's bizarre how relationships change over time". That was my way to acknowledge that my Christmas has a definite hole in it. The absence of my grandfather, the silent treatment from my father, and the evaporated relationships that used to be - Me, Patty, Cindy, Wendy.

The Myth: Colby Cheese Makes You Fart

Picture: Me and my cousin Wendy, at the house on 615 W. Third Street (1986).

We're doing dishes and my mom is pestering us to turn around for a picture.

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There was once a time when I didn't like cheese. Now mind you, I liked macaroni and cheese (as in Kraft), and I liked cheese as a garnish. But a hunka chunka cheese by itself?

Yeahhh - not so much.

Until I started spending time with my grandpa.

At his house on Third Street, there would always be a hunk of cheese. Sometimes a half moon, sometimes an entire round wheel. That was his snack. He'd go into the kitchen, unwrap it, cut off of a slab, and sit down in his overstuffed chair, watching the news.

Me: Grandpa. Isn't that gross?

Grandpa: Nope. Best colby cheese in the world.

Me: Don't you need to have some macaroni or a hamburger with that?

Grandpa: Nope. All of that stuff would ruin the taste.

Me: Doesn't it make you have the farts? Grandma says cheese makes you fart.

Grandpa: Your Grandma doesn't know what she's talking about. She thinks everything produces gas.

One day, as he was cuttin' himself off a slab, he cut me one too.

Me: What am I supposed to do with this?

Grandpa: I thought you were the smart one in this family.

So I ate it.

Colby cheese. It had a slightly sourish, but creamy taste to it (remember - my cheese experience to this point had been KRAFT). Interesting. Not a total turnoff. But I didn't say that to him. Nope. It would have been like he was right and I was wrong. I'm not admittin' that.

A couple more times, he would bring me slabs. I ate. Said nothing. Ditto for him.

Then somehow, I was the one fetching the slabs for both of us.

Grandma: Krissie, don't eat too much of that. It'll give you horrendous gas like your Grandpa.

Grandpa: Irene... don't be tellin' the girl that. You're just makin' up stories. In a whisper to me Your Grandma just doesn't have appreciation for cheese. She was born in Ohio - what does she know?!

Me: Giggle. Roll my eyes.

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Next up - it was time for him to introduce me to the place where he purchased his cheese - The Mouse House.

And that's when me, him, and Grandma, would take our walk "down to the bridge" to get some cheese and doughnuts.

This is a birds-eye view of the area.

Walking "down to the bridge" was about walking to the shops that were located close to the Old Wells Street Bridge.

We wouldn't have to walk across it for this particular trip - but that's how they referred to our walking excursion to Richard's Bakery and The Mouse House.

"Let's Take A Walk to The Bridge"

<-This is a picture of my Grandma, standing on the porch of 615 W. Third Street.

My grandpa was a security guard at St. Joe Hospital and his work week wasn't the typical 8 to 5, Monday thru Friday.

In the beginning, he worked second shift and his schedule was like four days on and three days off and then five days on and two days off. Never the same days either!

I never kept up with his schedule. I just knew that when I woke up, if he was sitting in his big, overstuffed chair, that meant it was his work day (he watched his television in that chair).

If he was wandering the house and the yard, it was a day off.

On his days off, he and Grandma used to like to walk together to various places around the neighborhood.

Usually, they'd come find me and say, "Let's Take a Walk to the Bridge".

I knew what bridge they were talking about and I knew what the trip was about. We were going to walk down Wells Street, and pick up some things from The Mouse House and Richard's Bakery.

As you can see from the map, it was a bit of a walk, but I never minded it.

There were sidewalks which were very walkable and crossing over from Third Street to Wells Street was never a big deal.