2nd Wind, December 2001
In recent years I have written three versions of my Christmas letter. The first has been December's 2nd Wind (monthly newsletter) then a letter to friends who only hear from me yearly, with tales of the events of the year, which 2nd Winders have already heard, and a third version for my overseas friends for whom English is not a primary language. This year, I realized nothing has happened...no separations, no accidents, no nursing home disasters, no deaths. And I've learned most of my overseas fiends are very good at translating. So December's 2nd Wind can be my holiday greeting to all. I'm going to indulge in recording memories of the 86 Christmases past. Some will be repeats. Apologies to long time readers, but you're the minority.
I have no recollection, as a little girl, of any special gift received, because that wasn't the emphasis. What I do remember are the Sunday School Christmas programs, where piping and off-key little voices sang Christmas carols, Mama's darlings stumbled through poems, and sometimes the manger scene had a real live baby who inevitably wailed. Maybe the straw tickled. The climax of the whole evening, though, was the appearance of Santa Claus, who came Ho-Ho-Hoing down the aisle carrying a pack full of oranges and bags of candy. Ironically, even in church, Santa outshone the Baby Jesus.
The morning after the Christmas program, a Christmas tree would magically appear at home. It always looked exactly like the church one and, when I once checked, the church one had disappeared.
My most often recurring memory of the early years is a year-round one. I was the only child at home. I never heard of a baby sitter until I became one. There were many evening meetings for a minister and wife....always a weekly prayer meeting....and wherever my folks went, I went. Also, under not very stimulating (for a small child) circumstances, I inevitably fell asleep. My 6' 3 1/2" father would carry me home, undress me, put on my nightie, potty me and tenderly tuck me in bed. I was always semi-aware of all these things accomplished without any effort on my part...such a wonderful feeling of being cherished. Now, as an arthritic saggy-baggy ancient, if I overstay my bedtime (gotta finish that whodunit), when I finally do start for bed, I literally yearn for my Daddy to take over and put me to bed. I like to think that's how safe and loved I will feel when my Heavenly Father puts me to bed for the last time here on earth.
We were always invited out for Christmas dinner. There were often both competition and church politics involved. I remember one time in particular. Mrs. Carson was a neighbor who never attended church. She had the wardrobe of a bag lady and lived in a two room cabin with a path (to the outhouse). She invited us so early that we had no prior invitation to cite and my father was probably too flabbergasted to think up an excuse. She had a small round table in her kitchen. The center was permanently filled with a motley assortment of condiments, leaving minimum room for our plates. We sat there hoping botulism wasn't about to pounce. Mrs. C., however, must have evolved from earlier elegance as her first course was a raw oyster cocktail. At age nine I had never, until then (or since), had intimate contact with a raw oyster. After a stern look from my father, I bravely swallowed the first one, whole, but a fiber caught in my teeth and the oyster remained suspended on its way down my throat. It wouldn't go down and there was imminent danger of it coming up. My father, with a fork, freed the oyster and mercifully pardoned me from finishing my portion.
In my High School years we lived at the foot of Mt. Shasta where Christmas was sure to bring deep snow. My sister's family spent Christmas with us one year. For the eight of us, Mama filled two five gallon cans with cookies. Her two specialties were a homemade fig bar and a ginger cookie. I salivate at the memory. I could never duplicate either one as Mama didn't cook by recipes or measurements. Dad sent to Montgomery Ward for three 5 gallon cans; one each of chocolate drops, Christmas hard candy and marshmallow/cocoanut cookies....all that for eight people and the drop-in visitors. Obviously, we hadn't heard of calories, and " a fat child was a healthy child." We were healthy. Rosalie, my sister's step daughter and I were the same age. We were to get the turkey out of the oven and bring it to the table where the others were already seated. Either the turkey got off balance, or we did, for it flopped to the floor and slid on its greasy bottom completely across the kitchen. We, at fourteen, could barely stifle our giggles as we gave the bird a bath and returned it to its platter. We thought we'd handled the situation well, and although my dad sensed something was going on, he wisely decided not to pursue the matter until later. It was a tasty turkey.
Music dominated my College years. Christmas was a gloriously busy time, with The Messiah and cantatas. I sang the latter in three different churches if the performance time didn't conflict. Years later, I sang the contralto solos in The Messiah with a black eye, five stitches in my forehead and a concussion. I had tripped on the concrete steps of the High School auditorium as I hurried to the last rehearsal.
After George and I were married, during the Depression, we made little hand made photo albums for the family. We did our own printing and developing, as well as some coloring. The next year we all placed a limit of 25c per gift. George had just finished working, as a first class electrician, on the construction of the San Francisco Bay Bridge @ 85c and hour and I (with a college degree) had taken the only job available, at 20c an hour. You can compute the 25c relative to today's minimum wage.
The memories increase with Beth's arrival. The year she was 17 months, we put the Christmas tree in the play pen. She couldn't quite reach the glass balls, etc. Later, Pat and Irv, with three little ones, suspended their tree from the ceiling.
When Beth was three, she insisted on reciting in the Christmas program, although she was basically very shy. She had learned the poem well and would do fine if she didn't panic. Unfortunately, coaching hadn't included how to leave the stage, which had a railing all around it. She performed with aplomb, then climbed the railing, and with dress billowing around her neck and panties pointed toward the audience, slid down to the floor level.
In Beth's early teens, their youth group reenacted Joseph and Mary's search for the inn. Duane, a mildly retarded, sweet, sweet boy, proudly played the innkeeper. All he had to say was "There is no room at the Inn." When Joseph approached and inquired, Duane delivered his lines and started to shut the door, but this was a very persuasive Joseph, who extemporaneously pleaded Mary's plight. Good hearted Duane couldn't stand it. He flung the door wide and said, "O.K., come on in." I don't remember how they salvaged the rest of the play.
Then there was the year we stepped out of the room and the dog got the turkey, the year we planned to eat out and arrived to find the restaurant closed, the year the kittens broke all the glass ornaments climbing the tree, etc. etc. There's no way to cover all those wonderful years. Maybe I'll continue in next year's December issue. Don't worry (Or DO worry), I plan to be here. I intend to live to be ninety. I would let my long lived ancestors down if I did less. I still have four cousins left older than I. However, I'm not sure I want to aim for one hundred. I'll re-assess that ambition when I get to ninety. So far--so good. In fact, very good.
May you each build happy memories this holiday season. God Bless.
LOVE, Darlys
According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year (the only members of the deer family, Cervidae, to do so). Male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid-December. Female reindeer retain their antlers until after they give birth in the spring. Therefore, according to any known rendition depicting Santa's reindeer, every one of them, from Rudolph to Blitzen...had to be female. Some will say: We should have known this when they were able to find their way...and in the dark.
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