When I was growing up our tree was usually a cedar tree, which grew in abundance in the area surrounding out house. Dad, or the boys, just walked out until they found one of the desired size and symmetry. As to specifics, I recall only one year, when I followed my oldest brother as he walked through the snow to choose a tree that grew between our house and the state road. This would have been either 1933 or 1934, when we lived in that first house on Hwy No. 8.
For decorating the tree, the store-bought items we had were red and green roping [garlands] and icicles [tinsel]. We may have had some commercial ornaments too; I’m not sure, but we also made decorations. In the weeks before Christmas, we made chain links out of strips of colored construction paper, pasting them together to make a chain, or chains, long enough to drape around the tree. We also drew, or traced Christmas symbols on light cardboard [another use for shoe box material]. Then we colored them with crayons, or pasted colored construction paper over them, or perhaps decorated them to our individual inclinations. The angel or Christmas tree on top of the tree was usually home made also.
We did not keep the trees up too long. It was put up a couple of days before Christmas and was taken down a day or two afterward. As I recall, cedar trees were bad for dropping their needles, and required a sweep-up of the fallen tree needles each morning. Perhaps that was why they didn’t stay up very long.
In my own household after marriage, we had to buy a tree from the local lot, and usually bought a pine or fir tree. Years later we bought an artificial tree. Everyone in the family wanted one but me, so we bought one. Later the other family members decided they liked a real tree better, but we continued to use the artificial tree, until Melvin set a heavy box on top of the box containing the tree and smashed it flat. I think that was thoughtless rather than deliberate – really. I bought another artificial tree because I had discovered I preferred the no-mess, no-watering feature of the artificial tree. We continued using that tree until after Melvin’s death.
We put the tree up a week before Christmas, Melvin putting up the tree and all of us taking part in the decoration. On New Year’s Day, I took off all the decorations and packed them away, and Melvin carried the tree out to the curb for the local pick-up.
After our children were grown, living elsewhere and if none could come home for Christmas, we didn’t put up a tree. That first year, none of our family would be home, at work we got to talking about ‘have you put up your tree yet?’ I said I wasn’t going to put up a tree. All were appalled and one of the women said I was going to have a tree, and she was coming to my house and put it up herself. She never did understand, but I finally managed to convince her that this was my choice, and so be it. A few times, I did set out a tiny table top tree, but not always.
In our present world, many families don’t live in the same area, and they can’t always get together. That was the circumstance of our lives. I refused to be sad about it and accepted it as the way it was, though I admit that first Christmas with only the two of us did seem a bit strange. But when you can’t sail into the wind, what do you do? You chart another course.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Christmas Past
The Christmases I remember all occurred in the nineteen-thirties. I don’t remember any before that and I don’t remember the Christmases of my teen years, except for the small gifts given to me by the young man I later married. I do remember one toy from pre-school days: a small old fashioned cook stove like the ones you see in old pioneer/western movies. It had a small coal bucket and tiny shovel. I had it for many years.
Nearly everyone has heard of the depression years, when most people didn’t have a great deal of money, and sometimes none. But, as I have expressed earlier, Dad did have a job all during those years, for which I am thankful. Our Christmases and the gift-giving of the time no doubt were shaped by economics and our parents own beliefs and backgrounds: something for everyone, but non-extravagance. I doubt if they would have been much more extravagant in gift-giving, even if they had had less children and more money.
As children usually are, we were all excited about Christmas, and awaited it eagerly. We didn’t hang stockings at our house, but during the year we each saved a new shoe box. On Christmas Eve, we set the boxes, with our names on them around the tree.[The names really weren't necessary as we all got the same thing, but afterward you would definitely want to know which box was yours.]
When morning came, the boxes had been filled with hard Christmas candies plus bon-bons and haystacks, nuts, an orange, and a whole pack of gum. Except for a special treat like this, gum was usually divided up by the stick, except when we could save up our pennies and buy it for ourselves.
We each got one special toy, with perhaps some smaller items of the 5 & 10 cent store variety, and maybe a game or two that we could all play. I got a doll until I was age seven. That year my mother said that if I didn’t play with this doll, she wasn’t buying me another one. I loved the dolls, but I thought they were so pretty, I didn’t want their beautiful clothes and themselves to get mussed up. I just wanted to enjoy looking at them. Apparently my mother didn’t understand that. Even so, I enjoyed that pretty doll, and kept her for many years. My mother was true to her word; I never got another one.
My one sister during those years was several years older than I, and apparently had decided she was past the playing with dolls age, by the time of my memories. The boys usually got a truck of some kind, with other small items. When they got a bigger toy, such as the famous “big red wagon,” a sled, and later a bike; those were share playthings. It wouldn’t have occurred to anyone that there should be one for each.
A week after Christmas came the New Year holiday. The shoe boxes were pretty much, if not all, emptied by that time. On New Year’s Eve these same empty boxes were set out again. They were once more filled with much the same thing as they had been for Christmas. In this case it was “Granddaddy Long Legs” who filled them. It seems that Granddaddy Long Legs, or Daddy Long Legs is the name for a mysterious giver, but I don't know the exact origin of this. [Perhaps I'll try to find out one day soon.] I believe this custom came from my mother’s family, where she, her brother, sister and widowed mother lived with their maternal grandparents until my mother was age nine. Granddaddy Long Legs in this case being Pa Ivie, her grandfather.
I didn’t know anyone else who practiced this custom until about 15 or 20 years ago I wrote about our Christmas custom for a newsletter. The publisher of the newsletter shared the custom with a group she met with, and one of the women told her that her family had done the same thing when she was a child.
You might wonder why I only mention the one doll I got when I was seven, if I tried to keep them looking the same way I got them. It’s like this: in addition to my older sister when I was growing up, I had two older brothers, and SIX younger brothers. Those little boys didn’t mind at all dragging the dolls around, if they could get hold of them when no one was looking. It didn’t take long at all for the dolls to look bedraggled.
After I was married, my parents had two more girls, for a total of twelve children. The older kids and the younger ones are a generation apart.
Nearly everyone has heard of the depression years, when most people didn’t have a great deal of money, and sometimes none. But, as I have expressed earlier, Dad did have a job all during those years, for which I am thankful. Our Christmases and the gift-giving of the time no doubt were shaped by economics and our parents own beliefs and backgrounds: something for everyone, but non-extravagance. I doubt if they would have been much more extravagant in gift-giving, even if they had had less children and more money.
As children usually are, we were all excited about Christmas, and awaited it eagerly. We didn’t hang stockings at our house, but during the year we each saved a new shoe box. On Christmas Eve, we set the boxes, with our names on them around the tree.[The names really weren't necessary as we all got the same thing, but afterward you would definitely want to know which box was yours.]
When morning came, the boxes had been filled with hard Christmas candies plus bon-bons and haystacks, nuts, an orange, and a whole pack of gum. Except for a special treat like this, gum was usually divided up by the stick, except when we could save up our pennies and buy it for ourselves.
We each got one special toy, with perhaps some smaller items of the 5 & 10 cent store variety, and maybe a game or two that we could all play. I got a doll until I was age seven. That year my mother said that if I didn’t play with this doll, she wasn’t buying me another one. I loved the dolls, but I thought they were so pretty, I didn’t want their beautiful clothes and themselves to get mussed up. I just wanted to enjoy looking at them. Apparently my mother didn’t understand that. Even so, I enjoyed that pretty doll, and kept her for many years. My mother was true to her word; I never got another one.
My one sister during those years was several years older than I, and apparently had decided she was past the playing with dolls age, by the time of my memories. The boys usually got a truck of some kind, with other small items. When they got a bigger toy, such as the famous “big red wagon,” a sled, and later a bike; those were share playthings. It wouldn’t have occurred to anyone that there should be one for each.
A week after Christmas came the New Year holiday. The shoe boxes were pretty much, if not all, emptied by that time. On New Year’s Eve these same empty boxes were set out again. They were once more filled with much the same thing as they had been for Christmas. In this case it was “Granddaddy Long Legs” who filled them. It seems that Granddaddy Long Legs, or Daddy Long Legs is the name for a mysterious giver, but I don't know the exact origin of this. [Perhaps I'll try to find out one day soon.] I believe this custom came from my mother’s family, where she, her brother, sister and widowed mother lived with their maternal grandparents until my mother was age nine. Granddaddy Long Legs in this case being Pa Ivie, her grandfather.
I didn’t know anyone else who practiced this custom until about 15 or 20 years ago I wrote about our Christmas custom for a newsletter. The publisher of the newsletter shared the custom with a group she met with, and one of the women told her that her family had done the same thing when she was a child.
You might wonder why I only mention the one doll I got when I was seven, if I tried to keep them looking the same way I got them. It’s like this: in addition to my older sister when I was growing up, I had two older brothers, and SIX younger brothers. Those little boys didn’t mind at all dragging the dolls around, if they could get hold of them when no one was looking. It didn’t take long at all for the dolls to look bedraggled.
After I was married, my parents had two more girls, for a total of twelve children. The older kids and the younger ones are a generation apart.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Pearl Harbor Day
December 7, 1941 - Pearl Harbor Day
It was a typical Sunday: morning church, a mid-day Sunday dinner, a bit more elaborate than weekday dinners; or supper, as we usually called our evening meal. Except for the big meal mid-day on Sunday, noon-time meals were usually lunch, with the occasional exception.
Melvin had come to visit in the afternoon. We had a light supper around five-o-clock, and not long afterwards began getting ready to go back to church for the Sunday evening service. My parents and the rest of the family had already gone. Melvin and I were getting ready to leave, but I had not yet turned off the radio. As I was getting my coat, the announcer told of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, leaving us stunned and in disbelief.
Needless to say, this was a major turning point in the lives of individuals, families and for our country. So many lives lost, others changed inevitably and irrevocably. Perhaps more later.
It was a typical Sunday: morning church, a mid-day Sunday dinner, a bit more elaborate than weekday dinners; or supper, as we usually called our evening meal. Except for the big meal mid-day on Sunday, noon-time meals were usually lunch, with the occasional exception.
Melvin had come to visit in the afternoon. We had a light supper around five-o-clock, and not long afterwards began getting ready to go back to church for the Sunday evening service. My parents and the rest of the family had already gone. Melvin and I were getting ready to leave, but I had not yet turned off the radio. As I was getting my coat, the announcer told of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, leaving us stunned and in disbelief.
Needless to say, this was a major turning point in the lives of individuals, families and for our country. So many lives lost, others changed inevitably and irrevocably. Perhaps more later.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
A Blessing Book
Christmas Stories for the Heart – Compiled by Alice Gray
Warms the heart - speaks to the soul.
Wanting to feel something of Christmas, I picked up this book on my last library run, and found many touching, heart-warming stories in it. One in particular that appealed to me was The Manger Was Empty, retold by Casandra Lindell, about a missing baby Jesus from a local church’s nativity scene. After searching around the church, the pastor reported the missing baby Jesus to the congregation. All were disappointed to think someone might take baby Jesus from the nativity scene.
Later in the afternoon, the pastor took a walk around the area and saw Tommy, a small boy he knew, pulling a wagon. As he came closer he saw baby Jesus, wrapped in a blanket, lying in the wagon. The pastor made it clear to little Tommy the seriousness of taking baby Jesus. The small boy looked up,tears beginning to slide down his cheeks and said, “But Pastor, I didn’t steal Jesus. It wasn’t like that at all. It’s just that I’ve been asking Him for a red wagon as a Christmas present for a long time—and I promised Him that when I got it I’d take Him out for the first ride.”
Another story was titled Daily Gifts by Charles Swindoll. He makes a number of one line suggestions, such as: "Mend a quarrel. Express appreciation. Give a soft answer even though you feel strongly. Encourage an older person." This last one might be difficult for me to do, if it means someone older than myself. I live in a seniors complex and right now I’m the oldest person here that I know, though I think there may be a few residents older than I am. I suppose I’ll just have to assume that everyone here is older than someone. Or maybe he means anyone who falls in a certain age category. [So you ask, where does old begin? I used to ask myself that; I don't anymore. Perhaps that too will become another blog.] Mr. Swindoll suggests maybe doing one of these gifts per day leading up to Christmas. [But why stop there?]
There are numerous other suggestions for giving gifts of yourself. Mr. Swindoll ends the list of gifts with the following:
“Let’s make Christmas one long, extended gift of ourselves to others. Unselfishly. Without announcement. Or obligation. Or reservation. Or hypocrisy. This is Christianity, isn’t it?”
Warms the heart - speaks to the soul.
Wanting to feel something of Christmas, I picked up this book on my last library run, and found many touching, heart-warming stories in it. One in particular that appealed to me was The Manger Was Empty, retold by Casandra Lindell, about a missing baby Jesus from a local church’s nativity scene. After searching around the church, the pastor reported the missing baby Jesus to the congregation. All were disappointed to think someone might take baby Jesus from the nativity scene.
Later in the afternoon, the pastor took a walk around the area and saw Tommy, a small boy he knew, pulling a wagon. As he came closer he saw baby Jesus, wrapped in a blanket, lying in the wagon. The pastor made it clear to little Tommy the seriousness of taking baby Jesus. The small boy looked up,tears beginning to slide down his cheeks and said, “But Pastor, I didn’t steal Jesus. It wasn’t like that at all. It’s just that I’ve been asking Him for a red wagon as a Christmas present for a long time—and I promised Him that when I got it I’d take Him out for the first ride.”
Another story was titled Daily Gifts by Charles Swindoll. He makes a number of one line suggestions, such as: "Mend a quarrel. Express appreciation. Give a soft answer even though you feel strongly. Encourage an older person." This last one might be difficult for me to do, if it means someone older than myself. I live in a seniors complex and right now I’m the oldest person here that I know, though I think there may be a few residents older than I am. I suppose I’ll just have to assume that everyone here is older than someone. Or maybe he means anyone who falls in a certain age category. [So you ask, where does old begin? I used to ask myself that; I don't anymore. Perhaps that too will become another blog.] Mr. Swindoll suggests maybe doing one of these gifts per day leading up to Christmas. [But why stop there?]
There are numerous other suggestions for giving gifts of yourself. Mr. Swindoll ends the list of gifts with the following:
“Let’s make Christmas one long, extended gift of ourselves to others. Unselfishly. Without announcement. Or obligation. Or reservation. Or hypocrisy. This is Christianity, isn’t it?”
Friday, December 4, 2009
Small Things That Make a Day
What’s happening here today? We had snow this morning – briefly. I haven’t been out yet to test the air today, but yesterday when I walked over to the next building to mail some letters and pick up mail from the day before, and to take the blue-bag recyclables to the dumpster, that wind was very cold. Not sure what the temperature was, but it’s the wind that gets to me when I go out in cold weather. It’s supposed to be 30ish today. Tomorrow may be up around 40.
I hope to go out and pick up some needed items tomorrow and return my library books if it isn’t too cold. If it is, I’ll push it off for another day. But first, I have to have a tire aired up, since it decided to start going down now.
One of the neighbors on my block brought me a Christmas card yesterday. She had enclosed a small handmade wreath, which is the cutest thing. It has several little circles, made from white fabric with red and green lines and holly berries on it. The small circles are the kind made when you take a larger circle, hem it, then make a running stitch near the edge, leaving several inches of dangling thread. You pull the thread until the edges of the fabric come nearly together. When you set it down and lay it flat, it makes a small, puffy circle. If you decide to make this, check to see if it is the way you want it before fastening the thread down and clipping off the remainder. It had little ‘gem studs’ here and there for added sparkle. Sequins would probably work too, depending on the fabric designs. Seven of these little circles were attached to each other to make a bigger circle [about 3 or 4 inches], with a ribbon at the top for hanging. It’s very attractive. Cheerful!
I had a pleasant, surprise early call this morning from a Presley second cousin once removed. Her father was my second cousin. She is the great-grandaughter of Lucretia Ellen Presley Earls, sister of our grandfather, Ansel Hampton Presley.
That's a peek at what's happening here. Merry Christmas to all.
I hope to go out and pick up some needed items tomorrow and return my library books if it isn’t too cold. If it is, I’ll push it off for another day. But first, I have to have a tire aired up, since it decided to start going down now.
One of the neighbors on my block brought me a Christmas card yesterday. She had enclosed a small handmade wreath, which is the cutest thing. It has several little circles, made from white fabric with red and green lines and holly berries on it. The small circles are the kind made when you take a larger circle, hem it, then make a running stitch near the edge, leaving several inches of dangling thread. You pull the thread until the edges of the fabric come nearly together. When you set it down and lay it flat, it makes a small, puffy circle. If you decide to make this, check to see if it is the way you want it before fastening the thread down and clipping off the remainder. It had little ‘gem studs’ here and there for added sparkle. Sequins would probably work too, depending on the fabric designs. Seven of these little circles were attached to each other to make a bigger circle [about 3 or 4 inches], with a ribbon at the top for hanging. It’s very attractive. Cheerful!
I had a pleasant, surprise early call this morning from a Presley second cousin once removed. Her father was my second cousin. She is the great-grandaughter of Lucretia Ellen Presley Earls, sister of our grandfather, Ansel Hampton Presley.
That's a peek at what's happening here. Merry Christmas to all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)