7 minute read
A Christmas diary: “Remember when”
A Christmas diary of ‘remember whens’
by HELEN LEDFORD
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I am now the last living child of Mama’s 10 children, and it is often a lonely place to be. My one remaining brother passed away a couple of years ago. Bill was my hero, and he left a hole in my heart and a void in our family that can never be filled. He was funny, smart, wise, a talented artist/photographer, gentle-spirited and sweet-natured – definitely a “John-Boy Walton” type! As I quietly sit and reflect on decades of Christmases spent at our family’s homeplace in Caswell County, I smile at the memories of what a good life we all had together.
If time and circumstances could be reversed, our clan would likely gather together once again to share some stories, laughter, tears, and countless warm holiday memories. It would most surely be a noisy, animated session, with many of our boisterous conversations beginning with the preface, “Remember when…”
My memories take me back to one of Mama’s prized possessions, a time-worn tablecloth which was used only once a year. It was imprinted with large red hibiscus blooms and lovely greenery. When the festive tablecloth appeared, we knew Christmas was near. That cherished table covering is probably stashed away in a box or a drawer somewhere at the family farm home. Chances are that it may still carry some vague essence of turkey gravy or cranberry sauce.
A special “remember when” for all of us was that Mama waited until Christmas Eve to wrap her presents! They were mostly socks or other practical items for both male and female members of the family. Nobody dared go upstairs where our busy mother had secluded herself, but we could hear furtive sounds of rattling tissue paper, mysterious bumps and quiet mumblings. When she finally emerged with her gift bounty, it was with a
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sheepish grin and a quick trip to the “front” room where the decorated cedar tree was standing. Festivities would begin as soon as siblings arrived with their spouses and children.
And there is the memory of a Christmas day long ago when two of my sisters got into a fight. The younger, Ethel, grabbed Jewell’s new doll (delivered by Santa that morning) and threw it into one of our wood heaters. Needless to say, it burned to a crisp! I wasn’t around at the time, but I am positive little Ethel found it extremely difficult to sit on her backside for a few days! If I could meet once again with my nine brothers and sisters, I might jog their memory and ask if they recall the day our house almost caught fire. It was very near Christmas, with snow on the ground. Originally, our house was made of rustic logs; later, the logs were covered on the outside. In Mama’s room, there was a heater with its flue pipe attached to an opening in the log wall which was safely reinforced by a square of heavy metal. There was a fire in the small stove, but someone had placed some newspapers and pieces of cardboard inside and suddenly the heater became dangerously hot and totally glowed red. Smoke started
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pouring from the surrounding logs, and they almost burst into flame! Good thing there was a covering of snow outside, because we all ran out with buckets and pans and filled them hastily with the white stuff. Throwing it onto the smoking logs, the snow saved our house that day!
Seems like yesterday that our family went through a period of exchanging gag gifts as well as good, authentic ones. At some point over the decades, we were all on the receiving end of a nice, plump pig tail saved from hog killing time in the late fall. Sometimes there might be two of those relics hidden in the smokehouse, regaled with a showy, bright red ribbon bow, wrapped in festive paper and tagged with somebody’s name. When the unsuspecting recipient opened the gaily wrapped “treasure,” he or she was usually goodnatured about the joke and we all laughed heartily!
I will admit to once stuffing a large, hideous blow-up snake (the kind you hang in cherry trees to chase the snakes away) in a very beautifully arrayed Christmas box which was given to a sister. As she pulled that fake snake out of its wrappings, I knew there would be a payback when the holidays rolled around once again. Sure enough, the next year I received from her a large, flower-adorned hat with about 20 little rubber baby vipers attached.
Th ere are so many good recollections and myriads of unwritten pages recorded only in our hearts. In each of us lies our own personal memory “bank” – a Christmas “diary” that is ours to keep and cherish forever.
Perhaps as years are added to our lives, we appreciate more than ever family, friends and days that are impossible to take back from time.
One of the gifts I treasured most as a young girl was a Mickey Mouse watch, given to me by my brother Bill, who saved money to buy it from his part-time job at our small-town theatre. He manned the popcorn machine, and at times, the film projector. At that time of our lives, we never dreamed there would one day be a Disney World with Mickey as the welcoming host!
I was humbled many years ago when a young kindergartner in our class at Oak Ridge Elementary saw the stack of Christmas gifts on the teachers’ desks. The piles of presents grew daily, and on the last day before vacation began, he came to me and whispered softly, “I have a present for you, Mrs. Ledford,” then added, “I didn’t have any money to buy anything.” Then he gave me a big hug and kiss and dropped something in my hand. It was a brass button from someone’s coat, adorned with a leaping reindeer. I have never forgotten that child and his simple offering of love.
Merry Christmas!
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