Christmas Memories

 I have had seventy-eight Christmas mornings and as many Christmas Eves. My mother didn't teach us about Santa Claus. When I asked her why she said she didn't want us to be disappointed when we found out the truth. I was determined to raise my kids with the magic of Christmas as well as the birth of their savior. I thought I missed out on the whole Santa thing. I'm telling you this because you know what? I can't remember a Christmas when I was a child until I was eight years old. It was a sad Christmas for my mother. We always went to church on Christmas Eve and she told me that I could open one present before we went to church. There were two gifts for me. A very large one which I really wanted to open and a very small one. My mother could tell I going after the big prize, but she said, "You know sometimes the best gift comes in a small package." She convinced me to open the little box. It was a Timex watch. Guess what? It did not work. That Timex did not go on ticking. My mother was so very disappointed. She wanted me to be able to wear that precious watch to Christmas Eve services. She sent it back and a few weeks later I did get to wear my new watch, but it wasn't Christmas and Santa did not bring me a broken watch. Isn't it interesting that I don't remember any of my Christmas's before that one? It gives one pause that will our children remember all that we do for them when they are little? I think not, but I remember every single Christmas with  my three children from the very first one to this one.

Then there was the Christmas when I was sixteen. I only wanted one particular sweater for Christmas. That was it. I never ever teased my parents to buy me something. I was easy in that respect, but I just had to have a mohair sweater. It was all the rage. I snooped under the tree one evening to see if it was under there. Oh my! My mom had wrapped something soft in tissue paper.. Just one tiny little tear would never show. It was pink just like I wanted. I felt the burn go up my neck to my face. This was like lying! I put on the Elizabeth Taylor act on Christmas morning, but I learned my lesson. I never peeked again.

Oh how I remember the Christmas when I was about fifteen I guess. I had a boyfriend and we broke up. Of course, it was a disaster in my estimation. The Christmas gifts I got when I was young were often cologne. Evening in Paris. Blue bottle smelled like eggnog! Yes, I can remember so many Christmas's. One in particular my mother made the teacher a loaf of her wonderful homemade bread. She wrapped it in tin foil yes tin foil in those days with a blue ribbon. I was so embarrassed. All the other kids took her beautifully wrapped gifts. I think the teacher felt my embarrassment and told me, "I can't wait to taste your mother's homemade bread. I have heard she is a wonderful baker." Well, then I puffed up a little bit. Especially when I got off the bus to hear my mother tell me that my teacher had called her to thank her for the wonderful gift. Oh such lessons we learn as we are growing up.

The Christmas dinners at my grandparents were dull. Yes dull. I cannot ever remember my grandfather smiling. My grandmother loved us unconditionally. Lots of hand pats and games of tic tac toe. Wonderful food. My grandma made cookies the size of a man's palm. They were so good. I always asked for two because that's how many I got at home. Mom's cookies were the size of walnuts and dainty, Grandma knew how to make cookies! But, when I asked for two I was told "no." The presents at Grandma's house were not prettily wrapped with bright red and green paper. They were wrapped in brown paper and store bought string. Always something she had made, which by the way I loved, but the brown paper at Christmas? I'm sitting here smiling while I'm writing this. Such fun memories. Grandma always had at least five desserts for every Sunday dinner and at Christmas! Mercy, so much to eat. She had a cookstove that took cobs like my mother's and an electric apartment size stove which my mother insisted that she buy. She hated it! She always would say, "Pshaw!" when something she baked in that dratted new stove didn't turn out, not baked long enough or burnt. She knew how to manage that cob stove.

I married young and married a controlling man. He would only let me spend seven dollars for Christmas for my family one year.. And I did it! A store in my little town was going out of business. They had a going out of business sale. I bought my mom a yellow plastic mixing bowl with a cake mix in it. She had used and used that bowl and was in her cupboards when she passed away. Everyone got a gift that year with my seven dollars.

Then the Christmas that my children's dad was able to get a pass from the nursing home to go to my youngest son's home stands out as one of my favorites. I set him up in a wheelchair and gave him gifts, wrapping paper and tape and ribbons. He loved it! And we all loved him. That was his last Christmas I believe, but he had all his children and grandchildren with him. It was wonderful.

As I am rereading this I saw a common thread. Family. Marie Lizotte, my husband's mother said that she had little to give as far as money, but her legacy to the world was her family. She said that so often. I agree. Her family continues to grow as we speak. She has two new great great grandchildren on the way next year. Yes, Marie, family is all our legacies. Related by blood or not, family is family. Here are some of my favorite Christmas pictures. First one is Marie Lizotte crocheting a pair of slippers for me for Christmas. She never got to finish them. She fell and broke her hip that very night. The next picture of the pretty lady in white and red is the last studio picture of my mother. She gave these to us for Christmas that year. She frequently told me I could borrow her clothes, but this outfit she said "No you can't have that one." lol

Merry Christmas everyone!

This picture is of my two oldest children. Melanie was five and Joe was 3. You wouldn't know unless I tell you which I am about to do, that poor Christmas tree is chained and bolted to the wall. When we picked it out it was perfect. We did NOT see that the truck was almost a ninety degree angle. Also not a few more things. Very few ornaments on the tree. The year before Joe was fascinated with the tree and broke most of the glass balls, so that year I was easing into a tree for him that he could enjoy. Also not the orange pheasant sitting on the stereo. Melanie broke one when she was 18 months old so we had one left. Oh yes, the Christmas memories.

The next picture is of my youngest son wishing me a Merry Christmas a few years ago. I was tired of him taking my coffee cups home with him so I bought him a sheave of disposable cups lids and bands for Christmas. Such a character he is. He makes Christmas so much fun with his youthful exuberance and excitement. He shakes each and everyone of his gifts before opening guessing what's inside. So much fun.

This picture is of my very best friend ever. She died too young, but made the most of her life for sixty-six years. This picture was taken against her better judgement to say the least. If looks could kill. I had just finished "frosting" her hair in  my kitchen. Such fun we had. In all reality she was my sister.

This is my children's father. Happy go lucky, laid back, easy going, and could tell jokes for hours on end and never repeat himself. He was a WWII veteran and highly decorated. We all miss him. One of his favorite things to say to the boys when they messed up and did something not so good. He'd say, "So how's that going for ya?"

This picture is of Carlene. She is my friend and I make sure she is well and safe. She is spending the Christmas holiday with my family and me this year. She opened up the box and it was a box of scalloped potatoes or so she thought. Then inside was only one slipper. Lo and behold she got another box that said scalloped potatoes and she found another slipper. She was so relieved. lol

Then there is me with my memories of all the Christmas's in the past and already thinking of the ones in the future. Take the photos. I had very few photos to enjoy until the children were older. Photo memories are the best. Enjoy your day and again, have a very merry Christmas to all of my friends and family.

The Store Room

 When I was a little girl we lived on the farm that had belonged to my great grandfather. The house was a two story home with three rooms upstairs and four rooms downstairs. I can remember one of the rooms upstairs was called the store room. No one went in there. My brother and I were told not to go in there, but I can remember opening the door and looking inside. It had no boxes of stuff. I don't remember cardboard boxes at all to tell the truth. There were piles of material, much of which had at one time held Gold Medal flour and feed for the chickens and other animals. Many of my clothes were made out of those sacks my mother carefully washed and folded and put on the floor of the store room. When I think back to that room it was really cluttered with piles of things looking like they had just been thrown in there. My mother's house was always neat. But that room sure wasn't. It had old pictures in wooden frames. None of them were hanging on the wall. I think they were just waiting to be thrown away. Then there were chamber pots. They were forbidden to use unless there was an emergency declared only by my mother! Oh how I hated to use the outhouse in an Iowa winter. Iowa summers as well because the wasps loved to hide in there.

I always figured that the store room was full of miracles, because whenever we had overnight company they would stay in that room. What did they sleep on? I have no idea because I never saw a bed in there. I can remember my cousin, Jim, when he was a baby stayed with us at the farm because his mom was sick and wasn't able to take care of him. I remember mom asking dad to get Jim out of the crib it was time for him to eat. Where did the crib come from? From the door way I could see things I never asked my mother about. Seashells. Huge seashells. Where did they come from? Were they gifts? I never asked, but evidently they meant a lot to my mom because they were still in her closet when she died.

Another time my other cousin, Bonnie Jean, stayed the whole summer. Did she sleep in the store room? Once a young boy from church needed a job. Where did he sleep? All I know was that often my mother would say, "It must be in the store room." Where? There were no boxes! I don't remember seeing any shelves.

My little office takes up a little space in my client's store room. Yes, she has a store room. It is also full of miracles. You could find anything from a paper clip to a greeting card to a parka in this room. There is a floor lamp that doesn't work and a scare crow waiting for autumn to arrive once again. There are totes of Christmas decorations and a box of hats that a dear friend of mine, Grandma Lu wears at times. There is a gnome doll that sits on my desk and supervises the stories that I write. Of course, there is a clock and a massive closet with shelves! There are books and baskets of computer stuff and hangers!. There is a sewing machine and many sewing baskets. There are boxes of hangers and totes full of pictures.

Of course, there are suitcases. I don't think my mom and dad had a suitcase. They must have stored them in their store room!

Most modern families have basements, garages, or guest rooms. I guess our store room was our guest room, and our walk in closet. I have a feeling that mom and dad stored baby stuff in there like a crib just in case another miracle arrived at our house.