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As I go through these Christmas feelings, remember many will have to remain untouched, unmentioned, but not forgotten. Each Christmas year holds its own uniqueness -- there are no ordinary Christmas days.
Should I go back to my earliest remembrance as a little girl with Mommy and Papa? Yes, Come with me. Let's walk through winter wonderland together.
I think I will take my first step into Christmas land in 1926. My little sister and I were held up by the harnessed garters, in our calico dresses with matching bloomers with the long tan cotton stockings always sagging in our long underweared attire - like everybody else's legs - three buttons on the back (long pants on a girls legs were never dreamed of even being created). Sitting close to the old black kitchen stove, with the big Sears and Roebuck catalogue in my lap - this was 1926 - we would dry out our frozen feet and thumb through the catalogue. In our house, Mama would let each of us seven children mark three X's of what we would like for Christmas. This took days and days of deep concentration and consideration. The baby doll with the cloth body and painted face and hair for $1.98 or the littler rubber doll that would squeak when I'd squeeze it. Santa had so many little girls and boys in the world that we would never be selfish and ask for more.
It was the Christmas of 1928 I remember most exciting. My little sister Eva Dean and I got little plush, tan coats, matching hats, and muffs to put our hands through. We just couldn't wait for the sun to give us more light to the Christmas morning so we could walk down the sidewalk - cover the squared blocks for all neighbors to see! Do you know, that walk is just as vivid to me today as if it happened yesterday. There were little soft, slow snowflakes flurrying downs. The sun here and there glistened on the snow. My lightly freckled nose caught the flakes as my head turned toward each window, hoping for an audience. We covered several blocks with no known acknowledgment - but satisfaction was inside us as we wended our way back home, knowing these little coats would be on us for a long time.
The Christmas of 1929 flashes to me a bushel of apples in the cold bedroom. The front room was full of all of us children. Oh these nostalgic thrills of hushed, early memory. Each of us were sitting by our Christmas stocking, admiring our toys. My back was against the bedroom door where the winter apples were stored (only the front room and kitchen were heated by the heaterola and black kitchen stove). My brother Elwin, age 11, asked if I would get him an apple from the bedroom. I did. As I stepped back into the front room I threw it with my left hand across the room to him and hit him in the nose. It gushed out blood. I idolized my 4-years-older brother, and he was so kind and forgiving toward me - and the blood stopped. But my hurt remained much longer than his. Most of Christmas morning of 1929 was ruined because of this.
Well, let's move on to something jolly and fun. Santa Claus - Santa is so full of sparkle, happiness and goodness. He is so magical - he can do anything. I would never think that he would make a mistake . . . ever. But he did!!! I will tell you of three right now.
All the little bright-eyed children were whispering in his ear what they would like him to bring them. Our little Kathleen had a new, bright idea as she whispered she needed a little bed for her dollies. He said, "Yes," he would bring it to her. She was jubilant all the way home. Mother was aghast all the way home. Daddy was driving the car all the way home. Santa had made a mistake. He forgot he did not have a little dolly bed. He forgot the little town of Delta did not had a dolly bed. He forgot he was sitting on our church stage the night of December 23rd. He did not know how this bewildered mother could confront this Daddy with threatening determination to have that bed. Daddy started thinking. We could not find an answer to this problem. Early morning December 24th, he went to Woody Woodmaker. Woody Woodmaker said he too busy. Daddy promised him the moon for little bed. He said, "Yah? I build de little bed. I make de bed. You finish with the paint brush." Christmas morning, little bright-eyed Kathleen was very, very happy. Big blood-shot eyed daddy was very, very sleepy but very, very happy. And they all lived happy ever, ever after.
Then there was the time little Mary-Lou climbed on Santa's lap and his beard was so furry, white, and soft. Santa hugged little Mary Lou tighter than all the other little ones and she came home and said that Santa had two little white kitties, one on each side of his face. And he even had a ring on his finger just like daddy's!
Then there was the time Santa's helper came bouncing into our house with his jingling bells and rosy cheeks. It was Christmas Eve and our little ones stood in wide-eyed wonderment. As Santa proceeded to leave he threw his merry hand into the air, grabbed the doorknob, and with a cheery "Merry Christmas to all!" he leaped into our cloak closet. He recovered fast, as if someone pressed the rewind button on the filmstrip. His face, red like a cherry, he repeated, "Merry Christmas to all!" and at that he leaped out into the midnight air - hurdling all three front steps in one giant stride. He was gone and disappeared quick as a flash - our little ones stood in wide-eyed wonderment.
Then there was the time Santa was to come in as a surprise down the ward cultural hall, his bag loaded with bagged goodies and jingle bells. He was in the foyer, back in the shadows. The attendant told him to listen through the next two songs, and just as the third song got going to come down the aisle and surprise everyone. He followed the directions exactly, making merriment in an over-exaggerated manner. It was the choir conductor whose heart stopped. He was leading his choir members in the sacred and well-loved "Oh Holy Night."
And now I am remembering the last Christmas party in our cultural hall. The announcer said, "After the closing prayer we would like all little children to come to the stage for their sack of candy from Santa." My eyes were shut, I thought little Alison was seated on the aisle chair next to me. My friend to the right witnessed it all. He poked me at the ending. I thought how rude. Yet I couldn't have missed this for anything. Little three year old Alison was walking softly, quietly toward the stage during the prayer with both arms folded and head bowed, eyes closed, most of the time. She arrived at the stage as the amen was said.
1941 found me having my first Christmas as a wife. It also found me putting on my first maternity smock. I felt a little shy going to my in-laws - maternity smock or not - I felt a little shy. Remember, this is 1941. My husband's father, a very prominent man in the community, scared me a little and I wanted to please him to the tee. I was determined to show the best manners and etiquette. We were opening gifts. I was being very gracious for what I was receiving. I opened a gift. It was coming out upside down. A navy blue diaper bag. I saw the bottom of it first. I thank them cordially and then as I tipped it up I could see it was an old, frayed, dilapidated D.I. diaper bag. What could I say? I had already told them it was perfect. Just what we needed. I perceive you are wondering about this. Oh yes, I would know just how to handle this situation today. But in 1941, even thought I'd been married long enough to don the maternity wear, I hadn't been married long enough to get used to my Father-In-Law. I felt I was always being scrutinizingly surveyed by his watchful eye. I wanted to please to the tee - show him I was the perfect wife for his son. Remember, this was 1941, and women couldn't even spell "liberated."
Written in 1986
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