Christmas, 1999

Mom was a great "Christmas Person".  As far back as I can remember, Christmas was a time of a house full of shining lights, ornaments and decorations.   Dad would always seem to pick the scrawniest, weirdest tree in the lot, but Mom would always manage to make it look a thing of glory.   The house was always full of the smell of things baking, even after she started working full time.

Christmas cookies, pies, turkey, dressing, and the MIGHTY CHRISTMAS CAKE.  I never realized just how much went into making those cakes until many years later, the first Christmas after we had moved to Vancouver, I decided to make "the family recipe" for dark Christmas Cake.   I called Mom to make sure that I had the right recipe from her book, and then valiantly set out to purchase all the necessary supplies to complete the project.   My first hint of what was to come should have been the size of the shopping list.   The second idea that problems were on the horizon should have been the fact that my HUGE mixing bowl was NOT containing the recipe as all the ingredients were being added.  The final clue came when I stood proudly (?) in my kitchen the following day looking at SIXTEEN large Christmas cakes all beautifully cooked and cooling on the counters.

Another phone call to Mom was the confirmation that something was amiss.   She had forgotten that the recipe was originally designed to feed HER mom's entire family (for most Christmases, a number large enough to populate a small town).  Well, let me tell you how many ways there are to get rid of Christmas Cake and lose friends at the same time!

But it WAS excellent....if you like Christmas Cake....which no one in my immediate family does any more.

When we were kids and mom was making the cake, it was a constant game to see who could swipe tastes out of the bowl without getting their fingers rapped with the wooden spoon.   I think Mom only contacted once, and that was totally by accident.   David was the lucky recipient, fortunately, not me.   However, I was the worst offender.   I loved the taste of the raw dough, but once cooked, I couldn't stand the stuff any more.   So I had to get all my "licks" in before it hit the oven.

We were not well off financially when the family was young, but our Christmases were always full of splendor.  The tree was always piled high with presents.  Mom was, of course, responsible for making a lot of the presents with her own hands.   All her life, she was famous also for her ability to shop all year long, finding the very best buys, so that Christmas would not pass without lots of presents for everyone.  It was the time of year that we got our new school clothes.  That was kind of nice.  Most everyone else got their new clothes in September, when school started.   We always went back to school after Christmas in our new finery....when everyone else's clothes were now worn and older.  It was always nice to have the attention that new clothes seemed to earn from the other kids.

There are many memories of different Christmases.  Its funny what can make one stand out over another.  I suppose my strongest Christmas memories are tied to two Christmases.  The first was when I was about four I think.....I got up and flew to the bottom of the bed to get my Santa stocking, and tore open the side of my foot on a metal piece sticking out from the side of the caster on the leg of the bed.  I spent that Christmas in pain, with my foot in a pail of salt water, as I developed blood poisoning from something on the metal.  Doctors made house calls in those days, and we got our doctor finally to come the day after Boxing Day.....a little too late to prevent the infection, but in time to cure it.

The second Christmas I remember most clearly was the year I discovered that Santa Claus was a lady.  Something woke me up around one in the morning and I went downstairs because there was still a light on in the kitchen, and I could hear voices.  We had some relatives staying with us for Christmas that year...a very usual state of affairs....and Mom was sitting in the kitchen talking and working on something white in her lap.   As soon as she realized that I was standing there, my aunt (it had to be an aunt.....they were always there) jumped up and shooshed me off to bed again.  The next morning, when I opened my present from Santa Claus, I saw this beautiful bride doll in her WHITE dress.....the very one that Mom had been working hard to finish into the wee hours of the morning.  I imagine that there was a bit of disappointment there......these many years away, I can't remember.   All I can remember is the beauty of the doll, and the warm feelings for a Mom that would stay up all night working on a present to give to her daughter with the idea of taking no credit for it at all.   And THAT to me is the true spirit of Christmas.

Actually, there was another Christmas that stands out in my memory.  Its not one that I am proud of though.  It shows the cruelty of  teenagers and the patient love of parents for their rotten offspring.  David was dating a girl named Jean at the time, and I was, of course, dating Clive.  I think I was about 16 at the time.   Far and away old enough to know better, I might add.   Everyone else had gone to bed, and the four of us were sitting talking in the living room, around the Christmas tree.  Clive didn't want to leave to go home, and Jean was staying with us for the holiday, so we were just being lazy and enjoying ourselves.   Someone came up with the idea that we should open a present each.  So we did.   That was fun, so we thought what the heck, why not open one more.   So we did.  To make a long story short, but the time we finished, we had opened all our presents.   We spent the night opening presents and talking and having a great time.   It wasn't until Mom woke up and came downstairs in the morning to find that two of her kids had proceeded without the rest of the family that we truly realized how awful we had been.   Of course, you cannot undo something like that, and many years later, when I was a mom myself, I really came to appreciate the hurt my Mom must have felt.  The joy of giving is selfless, but if there is any selfishness attached to it.....it is the desire to see the recipient of the gift open it.   We stole that pleasure from our parents that year. 

Mostly though, the Christmas spirit abounded in our house.  Lots of laughter and joy.   Even the "events" that occurred never seemed to drown out the whole family thing of Christmas.  Boxing Day was also an exciting day in our family as Grandpa's birthday fell on December the 26th, and it was (and still is) celebrated by the entire family gathering and exchanging presents.  1999 marks the 50th anniversary of the formal "Family Boxing Day" parties.

This will be my first Christmas without Mom's physical presence.  I miss her greatly.  It was a family tradition, after I moved away from home, that I would call her every year to make sure that I was cooking the turkey and making the dressing just the right way.  I am not making turkey this year.  Maybe I will be brave enough to try it again next year.

This is the first Christmas Mom and Dad have had together in many years.  I imagine that she has organized many pancake breakfasts and seniors dinners in Heaven already this year.   (or whatever the equivalent would be up there)

I miss them both, but I try to take over where Mom left off...making Christmas a happy and special time for my own family.  

Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad, wherever you are!

Love, Evelyn, Clive and all the Kids

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