Bells

Last Christmas eve, we spent a magical evening with Grammy and Papa aboard the Santa Express. In a dining car lined with tinsel and lights we ate dinner served by elves, rode all the way to see the bright lights of the North Pole and met Mr. Claus himself. Once he had visited with each of the kids, noted their wishes and asked the "naughty or nice" question, he gifted them each a bell: a beautiful silver jingle bell on a leather strap, straight, he said, from the reindeer-drawn sleigh.

This year, we lovingly hung the bells on the tree as a remembrance of our fun night, but the bells don't stay hung. It is too tempting for little fingers to lift off the beautifully loud bells and ring them whenever they pass by the tree.

Tonight, as I did the dishes after dinner, an impromptu game of 'chase' with the bells broke out. Eight little feet ran circles through the house ringing their bells wildly and giggling all the way. The sound brought back a rush of Christmas memories of my Grandpa and his annual bell parade.

Each year, at the Ottley Family Christmas party, after the dinner but before Grandma tossed everyone a new pair of gloves (so many funny family traditions), Grandpa would start to ring his big, deep bell. It was the signal that all the grandkids were to gather for the bell parade. Grandma had set out a tray of bells. They were collected from all over. The oldest grandchildren had silver bells with their names engraved on them. Those of us in the middle had bells Grandma and Grandpa bought on their mission in Israel. The youngest ones had bells Grandma managed to find here and there on her shopping trips to Pick 'N Save or ZCMI. Bells in hand, we lined up behind Grandpa, and started ringing. He led our parade all around the house: through every bedroom, making a quick turn around in the bathroom, around the desk in his office, through the storage room where they had a giant sign maker (seriously, the wonders at my grandparent's mountain home never ceased), up the steps and past the wall of mirrors, through the kitchen and family room, into the long bathroom and out the other side to the greenhouse, outside for a quick, cold minute, then back inside, through the back door, and down the steps to the "grandchildren's room" in the basement.

The parade was loud. My ears rang for a hour afterward. I'm not sure the origin of this tradition. Is this something Grandpa started on his own? Or is it something that was passed down from the generation before? Maybe my mom or one of my aunts will read this and remind me of the family history. At any rate, I will never forget the big smile on my wonderful Grandpa as he led his posterity in a noisy, joyful march around the house.

I don't remember when the last bell parade was held, but it has been a year and a half since Grandpa passed away. Maybe he is leading a giant parade in heaven this year?  The last time I remember participating was the year Dallin was born. I have a video of me carrying him and helping him ring his bell, smiling and waving to Daddy behind the camera, passing on the joy of family traditions to a new generation of Ottleys.

It is great to know where you belong.