the ski-man
While decorating their house for Christmas one year, Grandpa curiously eyed a little ski-man figurine. It didn’t match any of the other decorations and we have no idea where it came from. Grandpa walked around the living room, trying to find the best spot for this interesting little piece. He wandered into the kitchen, absently flipping the ski-man over in his hand. His eyes scoured the room and finally settled on the perfect spot.
He pulled a chair out from under the table and moved it over to the door. Climbing up on the chair, Grandpa reached up and placed the ski-man on the edge of the door frame. Quite pleased with himself, he showed Grandma his shining moment of holiday decorating.
After Christmas came and went and the New Year was adequately rung in with Dick Clark, the decorations got boxed up and stored away—well, everything but the ski-man. He stayed right where he was, perched high in the kitchen—where everything happens in an Italian home.
From his high and lofty seat, the ski-man saw my dad and uncle grow up, watched my brothers and I make forts, peered down on a sad family when Grandpa passed away. He saw my dad move back in when my parents separated, witnessed the unceasing prayers of my Grandma, and looked down on loud family gatherings around an overly-full table.
Saturated with the history of our family, the ski-man moved with Grandma down to Florida fifteen years ago. He found himself atop a new door, in a new place, but he remained a constant in our ever-changing lives.
When Gram moved in with my uncle five years ago, the ski-man moved with her but didn’t get elevated to his usual position. Maybe no one offered to climb up and do it; maybe she didn’t want to ask someone for help. Maybe she felt he’d lived a long and full life and didn’t need to be burdened with the job of “family overseer” anymore. I don’t know the reason, but the ski-man was never seen again.
Moments after my Gram passed away, my Dad got Niel on the phone. I walked back into Gram’s bedroom to talk to him. As I talked and cried, I paced around her room, looking at pictures and familiar mementos. I dug through the little bowls and boxes on her dresser, finding treasures and buttons and rosaries. In a small, open basket made of popsicle sticks lay the ski-man. I gasped and scooped him up.
I flipped him around in my hand the whole time I talked on the phone, finding a strange sense of comfort in his presence.
My family came into Gram’s bedroom to check on me. As I got off the phone, I opened my hand and showed them my discovery. Every eye filled with tears as we passed the ski-man around. We decided my older brother should have him. So he flew back to New York with us.
I’m sure you can guess where he put him.
@cassgirl says:
Okay… I am totally crying.
This is an awesome story..
The ski man….His presence was known all these years..
I wonder if Grandpa did it for extra comfort that his family was being watched over.
Reminds me of God… Awesome post Alece…
I need to go find a tissue.
you are such an amazing writer!! I love this post! I am so sentimental and the little ski man is just so cute! I hope he enjoys a long life in his new home and is cherished for many generations.
@atangie says:
hmmm…
I wonder if the same images that you flashed before our eyes here as seen by the perched ski-man were some of the same scenes remembered by your dear Gram in her final moments.
This was expertly composed, Alece; I could see the history of your family unfolding. Thank you for not withholding the authenticity of it all.
This was my favorite sentence: He saw my dad move back in when my parents separated, witnessed the unceasing prayers of my Grandma, and looked down on loud family gatherings around an overly-full table.
Beautiful, friend.
@mandythompson says:
and these are the ways that your family can get through this together.
i love this story
that’s such a cool story. so cool.
This should have included a tissue alert! God is so cool on how He helps us get through times like these. Beautiful story, praying for you!
:_) You seem to be eliciting this (teary) response a lot these days. So precious.
Why do you keep making me cry???
It was just a story about a silly christmas decoration and I am sobbing…. this is crazy and yet… you amaze me, Alece. You can take such a simple story and bring me to tears. Maybe it is your writing, or maybe it is my empathy for your loss… And maybe, it is my jealousy of the bond you had with your sweet Gram, that I never had and will never have with my grandparents… :(
my only wish was that I could be the ski-girl
[and I read the whole thing, I did!]
heidi — i highly recommend puffs plus.
faith — thank you, friend…
angie — mmm… thanks. i wonder, too, what my gram’s last thoughts were…
mandy — true…
christen — i couldn’t believe he’d been there, on her dresser, all along!
deb — oops – sorry! :-) thank you for your prayers.
annie — i’m not intending to illicit tears, but for some reason it makes me feel good (???) that i am. is that strange??!!
anna — you have such a tender heart… thank you for empathizing with me, and i’m sorry for the loss in your life of that kind of relationship with your grandparents…
cathi — why do you want to be the ski-girl? and thanks for reading all 504 words of it, even though i s-l-i-g-h-t-l-y exceeded the legal limit. (i couldn’t find anything else to cut, i swear!)
E’RYBODY — i hope you’re not getting sick of my gram stories. being able to write them out and share them—share her—with all of you is helping me process and grieve in my own way.
oh, it’s b/c I would have loved to have that view…and b/c I think he’s hot! :)
and seriously, I couldn’t stop reading…even if i wanted to!!!
Just don’t tell mark he’s in competition w/ a plastic ski man who balances on a door frame, k?
thanks, cath…
ya know, whenever i say i’d like to be a fly on the wall, really i’m thinking i’d like to be a ski-man on the door frame.
(and don’t worry – your secret’s safe with me.)
I want to cry.
love you.
thanks, friend. :)
and I love the gram stories. :D
you do?! i’m so glad i’m not boring you all to tears…
@cassgirl says:
Boring us? No way..
It’s sentimental and moving.
thanks, friend…
@mandythompson says:
no “boring” here.
just grit.
and a little glory.
well. a LOTTA glory. :)
@cassgirl says:
My presentation is in less than an hour and some pre-op appts for Isaac, Can you throw some Extraordinary Prayers over here to CA???
I would love that Friend!!!
mandy — a lotta glory? wow, thanks. my life feels pretty gritty right now.
heidi — yes yes yes. praying for you right…NOW.
I love the way you’re sharing such great family treasures with us
you are anything but boring! :D Love the stories…keep ‘em comin’!!!
:)
;-)
@atangie says:
What is the official legal limit? I probably exceed it all the time. :-/ Seriously.
The stories are wonderful. Not boring in the least. Keep ‘em coming.
I often ask myself the same thing, “Are these people ever going to get tired of hearing about my kids and Bolivia?” Or darker still, “Are people not returning because it seems that is all I talk about?” But, hearing your concern about that same issue and being on the other side loving, reading, crying, laughing, and sharing WITH YOU makes me see that authenticity is the rule. It works. Keep being yourself. Thank you for encouraging me to be me.
cathi and i like to aim for 500 words or less… :-)
“thank you for encouraging me to be me.” that warmed my heart; thank you!
@atangie says:
Hm… 500 – well I’m pretty ok then. :-) Good to know. Gracias.
I think I break the legal limit on a regular basis. :???: Hmmm, imagine that! :shock:
shoot darn!! CRAP!
ha ha ha! i love that it gets you every time, brandy. and that you have to comment again! ha ha ha!
it’s like a mean mean tease! :lol:
CRAP! There I go again!!
I have issues. *sigh*
i like the written-out versions of the crazy-faces. so seeing :lol: or :shock: works just as well for me!
well good then sister, prepare to see it a lot! :D
:lol:
:shock:
haha!!
Alece, I love your Gram stories with all my heart. I am a total sap, I eat them up…
I never had that kind of relationship with my grandparents. My Mom’s parents lived hours from us, I saw them once a year and they were always just wanting time with my mom. Not until I became about 19 or so did I have any lengthy conversations with them. And then they died a few years later. My Dad’s parents were the kind of grandparents who lived in the same town as us but we never saw. My Grandpa had been really abusive and was a drunk when my dad was young, and they had issues with my mom, so we rarely went to see them. I do have a few memories of my grandma (dad’s side) that I hold close to my heart. She also had a stroke when I was about 11 and died right after I graduated high school when I was 17.
Thanks for sharing your stories, maybe I can be that kind of grandma to my grandkids. :)
anna — my gram was the only grandparent i had that kind of relationship with. my grandpa (her husband) died when i was only 3. and we have no relationship with anyone on my mom’s side of the family. none whatsoever. besides, her mom died when she (my mom) was only 19 and her dad died about 10 years ago… gram was all i had…
Tears in my eyes. What a great thing. What a great story and legacy.
Forever will that ski-man be with us!
natalie — ’tis a great legacy, indeed.
andrew — long live the ski-man!
Yup, totally crying…nope, not sick of the Gram stories. I wish I could have met her. She seems like the coolest lady ever. I am so super glad that she had you in her life to pass on her fabulousness onto so I can know her through you. Yup. Great lady. Both of you.
thanks, apple-pie. i’m so so so glad that my reminiscing about gram isn’t making everyone roll their eyes.
@danielleH says:
this is a sweet story. i’m glad he brought you comfort.
i love that God can (and will!) use anything!