Christmas Morning at Granny’s, 1965
Kimberly Peterson
As photographs go, it’s not a great one. Only my sister and I smile into the camera. Granny, my aunts, uncles, and parents who gather around a table cluttered with dirty dishes and empty coffee cups, remain in conversation. Mom, hair in curlers, leans on her elbows cradling a lit cigarette between two fingers. A collage of empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays sprawls across the kitchen counter.
But my mother was a stickler for mealtime etiquette as proof of a proper upbringing. No elbows on the table; no cigarettes either. She politely asked our guests to move to the living room. Curlers? Come on! Even camping, Dad had to put on a shirt, and we had to change out of bathing suits for hot dogs served on a picnic table. Surely restrictions for dining in curlers exist. And the table, how many times did she tell us to clear it immediately?
Just a random snapshot that fell out of an album as I packed up Mom’s apartment. So much about her I’ve already forgotten. No one to ask. All the adults in this picture predeceased her.
Kimberly Peterson began her nursing career caring for chronically ill and/or dying people. After several unfortunate promotions, she spent much of her time writing dry policies. Once rescued by retirement, she applied her passionate quest for precise language to verse. Her favourite website remains Merriam-Webster.