Christmas Memories

And now we thank you, our God, and praise
your glorious name. (1 Chronicles 29:13)

 The words, “OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS” have special meaning to me. Our grandparents had all passed on, but we had other family—cousins who lived in the midst of rolling hills in the country, far from city life. 

It was like clockwork. You could count on it year after year. Early, before the sun rose, we would get up and sneak into the living room. The streetlight reflected off the white snow, creating a mysterious spotlight on the tree and all that lay beneath.

Dad always heard us first and scrambled out of bed to get his movie camera ready. He soon emerged from his bedroom with a camera—and a huge, obnoxious light bar—to capture us peeking at the names on the packages under the tree. Of course, you couldn’t help but notice our delight as we checked out all the packages, hoping the biggest one was ours. And, there was no way to catch us off guard and steal a photo as we opened presents, not with that monstrous lightbar! Actually, we became good actors under Dad’s direction. As soon as he flipped the switch on the wall, the tree lit up, and the Christmas train began its endless journey around and around and around the tree.

Each year, Dad added one or two more cars to the Christmas train. He loved his trains. Any other time, the basement was filled with trains and landscape scenery, and the sound of railcars chugging around the tracks. He had an old steam engine that actually puffed steam as it moved across the track.

The handmade stockings were hung on the fireplace where the embers from the fire the night before still smoldered. With a quick poke and a smattering of fresh kindling, the fire was blazing once again on the cold, wintry morning.

The glass of milk and a small plate of homemade cookies set out for Santa on the end table by the fireplace the night before were mysteriously gone, undeniable proof he’d visited our house.

What seemed to be for no reason, Dad suddenly turned on the light bar and aimed the camera at the hallway, where Mom emerged, complete with makeup and perfectly coiffed hair. She was the light of his life until the day he left this earth.

Aunt Elizabeth always spent Christmas Eve night with us. She didn’t have a family of her own and was very involved in ours. She stayed with us while Mom and Dad visited with friends and neighbors on Christmas Eve, part of their own adult holiday traditions. Gifts for her were always included under our tree.

Mom was quite the decorator; her tree was always adorned d exquisitely with blue and green lights, blue and green glass balls, and silver tinsel. The orange, spikey star perched on top stood out in contrast, and it was by Dad’s insistence that she even allowed it. She called it the sputnik in later years because it reminded her of a satellite. I’ll never forget the scowl on her face every year when he stood on a chair to put it on top of the tree. I look back and realize he probably loved watching Mom’s scowl more than he loved that ornament. He was a tease, always!

Mom brought out some hot chocolate and kuchen for us to nibble on while we opened packages. We were giddy with delight and couldn’t wait to see who would be the first to unwrap their gift. We took turns; everyone had to watch the gift being opened, one at a time. iI was Mom’s way of keeping order in her family. One gift at a time, while all looked on with curiosity under those crazy hot floodlights for Dad’s camera.

Before long, all the fancy wrapping paper was gone, and toys were neatly stowed away under the tree. It was time to get ready for Church. Excited to wear our new Christmas outfits, we walked into church and took our usual seats in the third row on the right side of the sanctuary. The sanctuary was always cold, but Mom made us remove our coats so everyone could see our new outfits.

Immediately after the service, we went back home and changed our clothes. The tree looked different in full daylight. The magic of beautifully wrapped gifts was absent now that the anticipated excitement was over.

Dad turned on the train again as it began its eternal journey around the tree. He sat down with a cup of coffee to admire his new railcars. Mom and Aunt Elizabeth were busy in the kitchen making a snack before we left for Uncle George’s house for our family Christmas celebration.

The trunk of our car was already packed with ice skates, scarves, gloves, hats, leggings, and boots. Dad tied the toboggan to the roof of the car. A quick bite to eat, and we were on our way—over the river and through the woods to Uncle George’s country home (it looked like a mansion to me).

The trip usually took about two hours — the longest journey we knew as kids, not because of the distance, but the anticipation of what lay ahead caused us to count the minutes until we turned down the familiar dirt road.

I couldn’t wait to see Junior, one of my favorite cousins. His older brother, Frankie, was okay but wasn’t too interested in us until we got out on the ice. Boys from a neighboring farm joined us for a wild and frenzied game of hockey.

Frankie loved ice hockey, and although we only played with him once or twice a year, he considered us ample opponents since he could hit the puck right past us every time. Cousin Charlotte was my shining star. She skated like a ballerina, so light on her feet and graceful. She was so beautiful, but her ice dancing was beyond amazing to me. How I longed to be beautiful like Charlotte!

Junior and I usually left the hockey game after a while since the older boys would get too aggressive for us. We loved the barn, and we’d climb in the hay, swing from a rope tied to the rafters, tumble a few times, and run through the snowy hills back to the house. Back and forth. Running and throwing snowballs. Building snow forts. Creating the strangest-looking snowmen. Working up an appetite for the most amazing Christmas dinner.

Uncle George stepped out the back door and rang the big cast iron dinner bell; its bellow could be heard all around. Everyone came running, tracking snow and ice through the basement door. We all brought our frozen gloves upstairs and laid them on the open oven door to dry while we ate; our boots were on the kitchen floor not far from the stove. We didn’t want to have to wait any longer than necessary to return to the winter wonderland of snow, hills, ice, and family fun.

When everyone was finally seated at the huge, crowded dining room table, Uncle George stood to ask the blessing:

“Lord, we thank thee for this food, for family and friends, for memories of Christmas past, and for the joy of fellowship today. We give thee thanks for thy Son, Jesus Christ, whose birth we celebrate together as family. For thy bountiful blessings, we give thee thanks. Amen.”

(c) Jan Ross
All Rights Reserved