December 2006 The Megaphone Page 6
Christmas at Our House, Long, Long Ago
by Julie (Stout) Crim
I was born into a family of tradition and have happy memories of childhood Christmas time. Christmas week was always busy. To begin, there was the baking, cookies, fudge and different candies and of course all the different pies. There was pumpkin, mince meat, apple, cherry, and raspberry. These were made from the fruits my parents grew the summer before, well, all but the mince. (You may remember from a previous story that my two uncles caught them the night before the pies were eaten.) And if we were very lucky, there was my mother’s famous butterscotch meringue pie. While Mother was busy in the kitchen, Daddy was busy testing the Christmas tree lights and deciding what was needing to be replaced. He bought a little brown sack of small light bulbs, the kind we see today in night lights. I loved to watch as he dipped the little white bulbs into paint, red, blue, yellow, and a mixture of other paints to make purple, light blue, dark blue and green. Holding on to the string tied to the contact end of the bulb he carefully dipped each bulb and held it until it stopped dripping. Next, he tied it to a wire clothes line above the kitchen coal stove for a 24 hour drying process. As I became older, I was allowed to help. Ohhhhh, so exciting!
We children were very good during this time. After all, Santa was coming! About a week before Christmas, Daddy came home with a tree. It sat outside for a day while we jumped up and down in excitement. We could hardly wait for him to bring it inside so we could decorate it. He said it had to sit while the branches spread out. Then it came inside and sat in its holder for another day. Oh, what a long day that was, watching a green tree stand there and do nothing but smell good.
At last . . . !!! After eating supper and the dishes were done, we did the decorating. By now my dad had the homemade lights on the tree and the decorating was a family event. Mother sat in a chair unwrapping the precious ornaments. One by one she would hand them to us children and we would very carefully place them on the lower branches of the tree. Sometimes Daddy would lift one of us to place one higher up. It was an event to watch Daddy put the star on top of the tree as he told and retold the story of Christmas to us . . . year after year. He wanted to be sure we understood the importance of the guiding star and the full meaning of Christmas.
After the ornaments were hanging just right, it was snack time, a cookie or two and a small cheese glass of real Pepsi. While we ate, Mother was preparing the next step of this special ritual. Using large darning needles and heavy string, we strung cranberries and popcorn into long strands. When one was completed, we would hand to it Daddy and he wound it around the tree. At last we were finished. It was the most beautiful site in the entire world I thought. By now it was time to turn off the Christmas tree lights. If they were left on too long, the heat would crack the paint on the light bulbs. All this happened over 60 years ago.
Christmas Eve was always a busy time. First came the house cleaning. Next came the bathing even if it wasn’t Saturday! There was no bathroom and bathing was in a metal tub in the kitchen. After supper we dressed in church clothes, nothing new though and went to the candlelight service. Depending on the weather we children traveled by sled or bicycle. Our family had no car and church was a mile away. I sat on the back fender of Daddy’s bicycle and my brother David sat in a basket attached to the front handlebars. The basket was padded with a blanket and he had a blanket tucked all around him to stay warm. My baby sister Janie rode the same way in Mother’s bicycle basket, all warm and cozy. The church service became more interesting to me when it was decided I was old enough to hold a lighted candle during that part of the service.
It seemed very late to me by the time we returned home. Hurriedly we dressed for bed and helped Mother fix Santa’s lunch. Next we dug in our drawers to find the biggest most stretched sock each of us owned. We left these out for Santa to fill and then off to bed we went. I always knew I could stay awake and catch Santa leaving his presents but somehow never made it. Sometimes, right at bedtime Daddy would say, "Shhhhhhhh, listen and you might hear Santa’s sleigh bells." By golly he was right! “There, did you hear that?” We heard them as we dove into bed and under the cold covers.
Some years later and in another house, we were decorating the tree as teenagers when my dad produced a set of sleigh bells. "Where did those come from Daddy?" I asked. “Remember those bells you heard as small children? These are the bells a neighbor shook when you listened.”
Christmas morning always seemed to come much too early for my parents but they got up just the same. With noisy laughing children, how could they do differently? We were allowed to unload our stockings and that was all we could touch. I usually had an orange, some candy, maybe a candy bar and tiny things depending on my age. But one Christmas I cried. My parents put their stockings out for Santa to fill too and one year my mother got a lump of coal in hers. My dad said she must not have been good that year. I cried until my dad said he had put the lump of coal in Mother’s stocking as a joke and promised to never do it again. Bad joke!
By now Daddy had the fire going good in the coal stove and the small house was warm and cozy. Reluctantly we were encouraged to sit at the kitchen table and Mother served Christmas breakfast. It was always special, better than the run of the mill breakfast of ordinary days.
After the meal, we gathered once again in the living room to see all that Santa had brought for us. The rest of the morning and early afternoon were free to do as we liked. We were allowed to nibble on the Christmas goodies that Santa had left; candies, nuts, and once a very large metal can of potato chips. Wow, what a treat! There usually was snow on the ground and so we’d go outside and play for a while. As I look back, Mother must have loved the times we were outside as she breathed in the silence. We all lived in a house with three very small rooms and the outside was very, very big.
Eventually we had to come in and take a nap. I didn’t like that part even though I slept. After a while, we were up and dressed in our finest clothes, sometimes new for the holiday occasion. Putting on coats, leggings, mittens hats and boots, we trudged up the street about half a mile to my grandmother’s house. My grandfather lived there too but we always called it grandmother’s house. I wonder why? Sometimes my uncle would come in his car and offer us a ride.
I called my grandmother Mamaw and when we entered Mamaw’s house, the smell of turkey always settled over me as a Christmas angel smothering me with kisses. Everyone was glad to see everyone else. There were the five in my family, two aunts, three uncles, two cousins and my grandparents . . . 14 in all. Some were from out of town so this made it even more special. My younger siblings each had a cousin their age. I was the oldest and spent my time with the grownups. I loved all the attention given to me by my two special uncles. The adult ladies congregated in the kitchen and the rest of us stayed in the living room until we all were called to the dining room for the feast to end all meals.
The table was beautiful with old china, crystal and silver and the tablecloth was snowy white linen. Some of these were my grandparents wedding gifts. Steaming dishes filled the table. There was a card table to one side for the four smaller children. They liked having their own table and I loved being away from them having my place with the adults. A hush fell over the room as we sat with our hands in our laps waiting for Papaw to deliver the blessing. He, of course, was at the head of the table and Mamaw at the other end. These very special meals seemed to last much longer than any meal of today. Conversation was interesting and included everyone. Laughter was always in the air and never do I remember a harsh word spoken. As I grew older, I was allowed into the kitchen to help dry the silverware after the meal. Even this time was special.
After the chores all the family gathered in the living room. Papaw had restocked the base burner with more coal and the house continued to stay warm and oh so cozy. We were quieter now as we each found a seat and settled in for a time of opening presents.
I must stop here and tell you about the living room. It was typically old fashioned with a window at the end of the rectangle shaped room. The medium sized Christmas tree sat in front of the window. All the presents each family brought were piled on the floor under the tree and during the time before dinner, we children were allowed to carefully look at the presents. We each searched for the ones with our own names attached. My favorite uncle was a master of gift wrapping. I remember one box wrapped in red paper. On the front was my name, Julie, written in silver sparkles glued to the paper. I’ll never forget it.
One person was appointed Santa’s helper and so they handed out the presents, one at a time. We all watched as they unwrapped their present as we all admired it. This took a long time and by the time the space under the tree was clear we children were ready for sleep. Someone with a car usually took us home. I remember my dad carrying me into the house as my head rested on his shoulder.
The next day was a day with plenty of leftovers to eat besides all the special things that would last for all the days of Christmas. A week passed and then it was New Year’s Eve. I remember taking a nap so I could stay up to see in the New Year. We played games, worked puzzles and ate more special food. I usually got a new coloring book and loved to color and must have spent hours doing just that.
A few days later it was time to take down the tree and clean house once again. Christmas had come and gone. Places were found for all the new things given and received. All this was just the way it was. Although I knew it was special, I had no idea how very special. I thought all families were just like mine and they all did the things we did.
Years passed. While I was in the sixth grade, my beloved Papaw died. Our Christmases changed and each year became more important to remain a family, all of us. My teenage years came and went. I married and on occasion could be home with my own family for the holidays. I remember one time my cousin talking of meeting her husband in Hawaii for R and R. That year he was fighting in Viet Nam. Times were changing. My little brother was flying KC135s over Viet Nam, refueling the fighters. Oh my, how times were changing.
One time my dad asked, “When your mother and I die, what do you want from our home?” I told him I wanted some hand dipped Christmas tree lights. He was surprised and yet pleased. That year, sometime in the 80s, he gave me the three he had left. “Here you are but don’t ever put them on your tree. They’re too ugly.” Well, that was his opinion. The lights always held a special place right in front and I loved telling visitors where they came from and how they were made all those years ago. Two burned out but the last time I saw the third, his little light was still able to shine in late December.
More time passed and my parents often hosted the family Christmas in their home. Mamaw was older and this was a better arrangement. Sometimes we all met at my aunt and uncle's house in Elwood and later in Anderson when they moved. Nothing was the same. And yet more time passed. For the last twenty years or more, my cousin, whose husband was in View Nam, hosts the family dinners in Carmel, IN and whoever can make it is always welcome. As lovely as it is, it’s not the same. New traditions with each new family are occurring now. I saw this in my generation and now in the next. Soon, all the family grandchildren will be carving out their own place among the memories of their children.
Change, it is forever laying on the horizon watching and waiting to make its move.
Julie (Stout) Crim, '57
Yuma, AZ