Sunday, December 20, 2015

Christmas ~ A Reflection of Christmas Past

The day was a bleak, cold one.  Snow and cold weather had brought life to a standstill throughout most of the city the day before.  I had an early afternoon appointment with my cardiologist at the hospital downtown, the one in which I was born so many years ago.   By the time I left the appointment and made my way out of the hospital parking lot, I was starving.  A holiday dinner was scheduled for later that evening, so I didn't want much lunch.  As I drove west, making my way the few city blocks towards the home in which I had lived as a child, my mind was focused on trying to find a place to stop into for a quick bit of food to tide me over until dinner.  There's no place to stop for lunch in this neighborhood, I thought.  

Just then, I caught sight of the little coffee shop across the street from the corner of the block where my childhood home was located.  The coffee shop is housed in the building that once housed a grocery store and the neighborhood drugstore.  Hungry to the point of going into a state of hypoglycemic  craziness, I parked my car on Boulder Street, my street, the place where I grew up, and made my way to the shop. 

As I rushed from the car to the shop, my mind returned to all those times over half a century ago when I would stop on the corner across the street from where I now stood.   My memory transported me to a time when my mother would entrust a quarter to me with the instructions that I was to go buy a loaf a bread.  "Yes, you can keep the change and buy candy if you wish."  I'd skip down the street, stop on the corner, look both ways, run across Boulder Street, and then Institute Street, and then skip up to the front door of the grocery.  

I could almost see those long ago penny candy boxes lined up in front of the front counter where I would pay for the bread as I approached the door.  The door was locked.  It was dark inside.   Pressing my nose against the window, I peered in and saw the shell of what once was the market of my youth.  I remembered the meat counter at the back.  That's where the check-out counter and the candy was, I thought as I noticed the worn floors I had walked across so many times so many years ago.  Coffee bean bags and equipment for brewing coffee were strewn all over the small space.  Was this store really that small?  

Just as I turned to head back to the car, desperate to find another place for a quick snack, I realized there seemed to be life in the other side of the shop, the place where a drugstore once was located.  I walked towards the door and realized the coffee shop was housed on that side of the building.  Inside, the layout was all wrong.  Tables and benches lined the wall where my cousin and I would once sit at the soda fountain to order our cherry cokes when we were cool thirteen year olds with enough money to buy a coke.  On the opposite side of where the soda fountain once stood, was a bar where I could now order coffee and something to eat.

Soon, a bagel, a very good bagel, with cream cheese, and an excellent cafe latte brought my sugar levels back up to normal.  Siting on the wooden bench in the bay window store front, I savored the moment.  

Somehow, despite the cold weather, the dreary skies, the worries in my heart, and the feeling that this Christmas just wasn't going to be that merry, my spirits were lifted by being in that simple little coffee shop that was full of young people studying for finals. 

I felt I was in the heart of "home" while I sat sipping my cafe latte.  Grateful, for the time of rest, refreshment, and time for reflection on the happy, simple days spent in this little corner of my early world, I left the shop and headed back to my car.

These streets, these sidewalks, are as familiar to me as the back of my hand.  I know where all the cracks are, and even the several types of concrete used to make these sidewalks are familiar.  They haven't changed in all these year.  

I look up at the trees that line the street.  They seem to be standing guard as they protect all the memories once made under their leafy branches. Their aged, bare limbs seem all the more empty now that they no longer shelter my great grandparents, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my father from hot summer days. 

Grandma's house is just down the street.  I can't see her house, but it is there just steps away.  How I wish I could walk down that street and walk in the door for a visit.   

Trees stand guard on the way to Grandma's House

My roots run deep on this street.

I think of the family history that these trees witnessed on this block.  They watched my father move into the house just down the way over ninety years ago.  I look at the trees and see my parents standing so close together for a photo on their wedding day.  The day was a bleak and cold one.  They'd been married in the United Presbyterian Church across the street right after morning services on that February day.

My earliest days were spent here.
My first Christmas was here.
Daddy was just home from the army.
World War II had just ended.

Grandma's house provided the heart of Christmas for so many years.

My grandmother in front of a fireplace with a Van Briggle hearth -
My grandmother holding me on her right and my cousin Donna on her left

Christmas was no small undertaking in those days.

All the aunts, the uncles, the cousins would be at Grandma's at Christmas.
It had been that way since my earliest days.

Baking for Christmas began before Thanksgiving.
That is when Grandma made her wonderful fruitcake.
The panty, that cold room right off the kitchen, 
the place where we as children could never enter,
the place that seemed like the inner sanctum of the home that was the heart of Christmas,
held shelves stacked high with metal tins full of 
perfectly made candy:
peanut brittle,
cherry drops, 
More tins held the most heavenly tasting spritz cookies.
Oh the joy I would feel
when she would enter the pantry after Christmas dinner 
and load down the kitchen table with:
mincemeat pies,
pumpkin pies,
and  candy,
all made by her own hand.

Preparation for Christmas Day would have also included
days of polishing the silver.
Sometimes, we, the older cousins, had the task of going to Grandma's house a few days before Christmas to polish the silverware and the silver serving dishes.
 We would very carefully take the china from the dining room buffet and set the table.
The table had to be properly set.
The salad plate, the water glasses, the silverware, the napkins, all had to be properly placed.
The silverware was measured with a finger to be an inch from the end of the table.

We always went to the church across the street for Christmas Eve services.  
It was the family tradition for Christmas.

The story was always told of how my father as a young boy, dressed in his new flannel robe, which had been purchased for his part as one of the shepherds in the Christmas pageant, 
had begged to stay home from church.
He said he was ill.
My grandmother was a strict disciplinarian.
He was told to get over to the church and fulfill his duty.
He did.
Halfway though the pageant, he vomited and had been rushed home across the street wearing soiled new robe.

Years later, my cousin, my sister, and I would be angels in that same Christmas pageant.

My home,
Grandma's home,
my elementary school,
the church,
the grocery store,
were all within a block of each other.

My world was small.
It was filled with rich relationships,
many funny stories,
great laughter,
long held traditions,
solid foundations for
and family.

As I think on these things,
the memory of my mother's beautifully clear soprano voice fills my mind.
Christmas memories from this place would not be complete without the memory of her
dressed in her green silk dress,
the one she made from drapery fabric,
 standing  in the choir loft at church just as the Christmas program starts.
My mother, a tiny 4'll" dark haired woman is adorned in
crystal jewelry which sparkles as she sings.
I am in awe of her beauty.
I am proud of her and her beautiful voice.
 With a lighted candle in my hand,  I listen with tears rolling down my cheeks as she sings.
I will soon be lighting the Christmas candles nestled among the pine branches placed in front of the church windows.

Her voice rings out with the words of that beloved Christmas song.

Oh Holy Night!  The stars are brightly shining.
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth.
Truly He taught us to love one another.
He law is love and His gospel is peace.


Today we sang those words of that much loved Christmas song in church.
O Holy Night!
Again, my mind went back to my mother.
I longed to be standing next to her in church listening to her sing that song of 
praise and adoration 
for her Savior,
God with Us,
The One whose birth we celebrate on Christmas.

This past week, as I walked back to my car after walking up to the long ago home of my father and his parents, those memories of days of long ago were again tucked away in my mind.

Grandma's house is still there,
but I can't walk up the path and step on to her porch and find her and grandpa sitting in the dining room reading.

She died on Christmas Eve over thirty years ago.

My father is also gone.
All the aunts and uncles are gone.
Only the memory of the 
times we spent together, 
those times filled with
such wonderful stories,
so much laughter

Mother is still with us.

Today, she and I talked of that Christmas when she sang her favorite Christmas song,
and mine.
She said she went to church today was able to sing in  despite it being her one hundredth year after she celebrated her first Christmas.

I am now a grandmother.
My grandchildren will never have the rich memories of the Christmas traditions of family that I hold so dear.
We don't live near each other.
We seldom see each other at Christmas.
It breaks my heart each and every year not to be with my children and grandchildren.

As I get in my car to leave the streets of my childhood,
I remember the prayer I had for this Christmas.

I prayed I would not be focused on the traditions and trappings of Christmas.
Certainly, those traditions are wonderful to create, to remember, and to celebrate,
but they really are not what Christmas is all about.
I prayed that I would not focus on the trappings of Christmas this year.

I prayed I would rejoice in the One whose birth we celebrate.
I prayed I would not miss the reason we have Christmas.
I prayed that each of my loved ones would know this truth this year:

Truly He taught us to love one another.
He law is love and His gospel is peace.

May your Christmas be filled with 


  1. It's lovely that you write these memories down. Your children and grandchildren may not have had the same Christmas, but you leave them their family history. The way we celebrate now is different, but the love is the same. Our children will have loving memories, just different from ours. I'm blessed to have my children and grandchildren together this Christmas. We're all meeting at my brother's house in San Diego. We'll take four generation pictures with my dad! Have a wonderful Christmas!

  2. Beautifully written memories! Think of you often.

  3. Jean French BarrettDecember 21, 2015 at 6:50 AM

    So many memories revolve around this small area. I drive past grandma's house and think of all the good times. I wonder what happened to the kids that were my schoolmates. It makes me laugh that I still remember the names of the families who lived on that block but I have no clue of my current neighbors names. BTW the woman who lives across the street from our Monument house owns the building the coffee shop is housed in. Small world.

  4. Such a beautiful, nostalgic-filled post, Sally.
    Imagine having change from a quarter to spend on candy!

  5. So lovely that your grandmother's house is still there, bearing witness to a life well lived. I love the porch, I love the blue paint. I love your story.

  6. Sally, what heartfelt memories of the season. May your days be merry and bright, surrounded by those you care about. Merry Christmas to you and yours.

  7. What a fantastic blog post, Sally... Your wonderful words (you are SO gifted when it comes to writing) brought back memories to me of my childhood and the Christmases we had together.... Times have changed --and these changes are not always good... I miss those big 'family times' when everyone was together. We'd sit around the piano and sing all of the old carols... SUCH great memories.

    That was neat that you got to re-visit your old home place --and enjoy re-living those memories... Glad you found a Coffee House also!!!!

    Merry Christmas.

  8. Beautifully written memories, Sally. I love thinking of what it was like for you back then. Growing up as an Air Force brat, I never had a place to grow up or return to, like you have. It's very special, and you've given me the gift of your fine words. :-)

  9. Those visits do bring back vivid memories, don't they. Have a wonderful Christmas wherever you are and whoever you're with.

  10. When I read your memories, they took me back to long ago Christmases of my own. Thank you for that, Sally. We leave for Denver tomorrow and a family dinner tomorrow night at a center-city hotel. We'll meet old friends in the city and spend some time catching up with their news. I like Christmas to be a quiet time of reflection as the end of one year gives way to the new. We return to Breckenridge Christmas Day with our oldest Grandson (12) who will ski with us while he's on school break. Merry Christmas to you and Jim.

  11. Especially at this of year, you can just taste and feel and see, in memory, those past Christmases with so many more people, so much connection, such a sense of belonging. Times have changed and the holidays with them. And the memories are bittersweet, yet we're fortunate to have had these experiences that warm us as we experience Christmas 2015 in very different ways. My best wishes to you, Sally, for joy and peace and love during this holiday season.

  12. Reading of your memories, I can't help but think of my own long age Christmases. No street, a country road instead, no corner store to walk to, no change with which to buy candy, but Christmas Eve on my grandparent's farm, with all of the aunts and uncles and cousins.
    For us it is and always has been about family. When they lived far from us, we traveled. Now we can be at their house for Christmas morning in 15 minutes. I am blessed.
    Thank you for this beautiful post.

  13. Beautiful, Sally. Reading your words of memory took me back to my own childhood Christmases. Oh those were the days....

  14. What a beautifully written, thoughtful and nostalgic post filled with love for the past and all the wishes and dreams of the present. It's wonderful, isn't it, to step back inside a different time, different traditions and wish them to all be right now, this minute. I am experiencing this as well.

    But what I think matters is, in part, that we had those experiences. And those who follow will have their experiences and traditions. I'm struggling with how life moves on but the one thing that is constant is the love.

    I could see the things happening in your world, with your family (oh, those wonderful photos!). I'm so grateful your mom is still with you on this Christmas. Sending Merriest greetings and love.

  15. Thank you for sharing lovely memories with us. Merry Christmas!

  16. You have so many precious Christmas memories. They are very different from those I had in Hawaii. Those photos from Christmases past are true heirlooms.

  17. Beautiful, Sally. We too were always at my grandparents, a half mile from our farm house. It was a different time then with all the aunts and uncles and grandparents. However I am glad to say that as my kids have gotten older they have grown close to their cousins keeping closer contact because of Facebook. They are actually doing a cousins only day the day after Christmas. That is so grandparents can babysit. Your story helped me think of mine. Thanks.

  18. Hello Sally! Reading this post brought back so many of my own memories of Christmas for the first nine years of my life. After that, they are jagged and sometimes good, sometimes not as good. After reading Jann's comment, she reminded me that our kids and grandkids won't have the same memories, but they will have love filled memories, just different.
    Sending warm wishes to you for everything you wish for this year to be true.
    Love and hugs, Sandi


Thank you for visiting my blog. I love reading your comments. Comments are moderated by the author of this blog. It may take a short delay for your comment to be published. No anonymous comments are published, nor are comments that are offensive to myself or other readers.