"CHRISTMAS LONG AGO"

I suppose Christmas always makes a person nostalgic. I am no exception. While I enjoy much of the "commercialism" including the overabundance of decorations, the malls and their crowds, and the hustle-bustle of shoppers choosing that perfect gift, I always yearn for a simpler time . . . a time when life was so much slower, so much quieter, and so much more intimate.

As a child of the forties and fifties, my Chrismas memories certainly don't conjure up thoughts of primitive or stark celebrations, presents opened by lantern light or the house heated by an old wood stove. Still, when compared to today, Christmas seemed so innocent. I still wonder at the wonder of it all.

Hours spent on the overstuffed sofa with my sister and two brothers, memorizing each page and image in the Sears and Roebuck Christmas catalog began a tradition-filled and mesmerizing time of the year for our family. The absence of television meant that we must use only what we saw before us in the glossy pictures of that book and our vivid imaginations to discern the potential of each toy or game that caught our eyes. Much discussion of what would not only be fun for us individually, but what could be shared with each other, brought about priorities in our decisions in choosing what we would eventually put on that all-important Christmas list. We knew that Momma and Daddy would see to it that Santa Claus received that list personally and while we didn't want to skimp on our wishes, we didn't want to appear greedy, either. We didn't want to take the chance of Santa thinking we were selfish or demanding and perhaps deciding to not bring us anything at all. So, as we listened to our scant collection of Christmas carols on the old Victrola, we made our final choices, writing and rewriting the list until it seemed to finally suit our collective wants.

Most years Kopy Fun headed our list. We knew from past Christmases when we received this wonderful box filled with a type of waxed paper, tongue depressors and silly images drawn with heavy black ink, that we would have months of entertainment creating pictures of giraffes with mustaches, bald-headed men wearing flowered hats, or even perhaps a child with a monkey's tail and ears! Producing these works of art was accomplished by placing the waxed paper over a component of a picture and vigorously rubbing over it with the tongue depressor. We even discovered that we could use the colored comic section of the newspaper for enhancing our pictures! Yes, Kopy Fun was a must!

Another kind of toy that seemd to find its place on our Christmas list was squeaky toys. These were little rubber animals that had squeak boxes in the bottoms of them. Even little Tim was past the age of those baby-type of things, but we used them for much different purposes.

We were a troupe of wanna-be playwrights and actors. We wrote stories, staged skits, and forced our parents to be our audience for many first-run plays that starred our stuffed animals and squeaky toys. I remember our favorites and the heroes of most of our adventures, were a little dog named "Perky" and his side-kick, "Chubby", a little pig whose claim to fame was his molded, curly tail. We never asked for store-bought stuffed toys, for our older sister, Pat, was quite handy at making our stuffed animals out of scraps of material, using crayons to draw on their facial features and then ironing them to melt the crayon into the fabric. Nothing we ever saw in the catalog could measure up to the ones Pat made. Those professionally manufactured animals just had NO personality!

Our plays would begin with an idea about one of our animals, then invariably mushroom into a full-fledged production, complete with sets and props. It was brother Jim's job to create the sets under Pat's direction. We spared no amount of time or energy. We cut down and hauled in small trees from the back lot, brought in rocks and dirt and an assortment of interesting weeds as we laboriously and methodically transformed the glassed-in porch into a sound stage! I am certain that many various and sundry "critters" accompanied the forests and meadows we built. An old wool Army blanket strung on a clothesline rope became our stage curtain, complete with pulls to open and close it. That back room was always in the middle of some kind of chaos. It is a wonder Momma and Daddy even let us live there!

So, with our future "block busters" in mind, we were always on the lookout for new little characters to add to our cast of performers. Christmas seemed the perfect time for us to do our talent search!

The next all-important project on the agenda was the purchase of the Family Christmas Tree. Living in the middle of town, it was not feasible for us to go out and chop down our own Christmas tree, so we had to depend upon the trucks and trains that hauled in fresh-cut trees from other areas. The choosing of The Tree required much deliberation, much discussion, and many criteria were considered. First of all, it HAD to reach the ceiling. If it was even a few inches short, it was not acceptable. If it turned out to be too tall, it was shortened from the bottom . . . NEVER the top. Secondly, it had to be a Douglas Fir tree. No other type of tree, no matter how beautiful it might be, smelled "right." There was a certain smell to Christmas at our house, and the perfect ttee provided the prominent aroma for that smell. A third consideration was how well the branches were spaced. We had many special toys that we insisted on decorating the tree with, and if the branches were too close together, our larger items would not have the perfect place to "live" during the Christmas season.

Finally, after the Mayo Christmas Tree was chosen, we tied it to the top of the old 1947 Chevy and hauled it home. It was not brought into the house immediately. We always purchased our tree about two weeks before Christmas, and to bring it into the house right away would mean it would certainly be completely dried out by the time the big day arrived. So until it was time to decorate it, Daddy dug a hole in the yard next to the house, filled the hole full of water, and plunked the trunk of our tree down into it. He carefully tied the tree to a window frame, a shutter, another tree, or whatever was close-by and was sturdy enough to keep winds from toppling it. We kids went out daily and checked to make sure it was watered, still standing upright, and "happy." There it would sit and wait for about a week, when finally it was time to bring it in and festoon it with all manner of cherished items that were special only to Christmas.

One of the highlights of our Christmas season was the annual trek to Tulsa to see the Christmas Parade make its way down Main Street. Daddy worked for I.B.M. which had offices in downtown Tulsa, located at 907 South Main. Being a Customer Engineer, he, it seemed, knew everyone in town, and would ask around for weeks beforehand until he located what he felt was the ideal place for us to view the marching bands, the floats, and of course, Old Santa himself! Usually the weather was raw and damp (if it was not actually raining), so it was much better for us to be out of the elements. Daddy never let us down. He always had a place picked out in an office with a big window that overlooked the parade route. One year, he even negotiated with the owners of a furniture store that had a second-story display window, and that year we not only had a perfect view of the festivities, but comfortable rocking chairs, sofas, and settees to relax on as we took it all in! We always suspected that Daddy enjoyed these parades every bit as much as we did, even though he tried to act "adult" about the whole thing!

After we saw the parade, Daddy would lead us through the busy streets of Tulsa until we came to the Sears Roebuck building at 421 South Main, where "Toyland" was located. I think we all really believed that this was the North Pole! The store was decorated with all kinds of garlands and bells and Christmas music was piped in everywhere (even in the elevators, where the elevator operators wore Santa hats!). When the elevator doors parted on the third floor and we entered "Toyland," we were handed a pappermint candy stick by an elaborately costumed "elf" who greeted each wide-eyed child as he disembarked. Children were crowded around the toys displayed on the low-standing shelves, inviting the testing and trying out of sample items of each treasure that was for sale.

And there, in the midst of that Wonderland, on a huge, velvet throne, sat Santa Claus, in all of his red and white splendor! We were always a little afraid to actually approach Santa, for fear there was something in our past that he would be able to corner us on, resulting in our being placed on that feared "Bad Boy" or "Bad Girl" list that was always hanging over our heads. We stood transfixed by the sight of him, however, envying the courage of those children who sat on his lap whispering their Christmas wants in his listening ear. We spent what seemed like hours roaming around, scrutinizing each and every item we could see. It was a magical time! It was almost more than our imaginations could comprehend.

When our thrilling day ended and we drove up the driveway to our home, we knew we would be greeted by the aroma of Momma's special Christmas cookies just coming out of the oven. We never wanted elaborately decorated or sugary cookies. Our favorites were from a recipe Momma found in her Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook which was given to her by her mother when she and Daddy married in 1933. They were called "Delicious Drop Cookies", and were a soft cookie which Momma loaded with LOTS of raisins. Christmas just wouldn't have been Christmas without platters of warm cookies made lovingly by our Momma.

We always had our big Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. We usually had two big, fat, baking hens. The reason for this was because each of us kids wanted a drumstick, and that was the only way for Momma to accomodate our tastes. The hens were always surrounded by Momma's delicious stuffing, made only with white bread, lots of onions, a little bit of celery, lots of broth from the chickens, eggs, and salt and pepper. We also feasted on mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet potato casserole with marshmallows, green beans, corn, banana layer cake, and gingerbread with lemon sauce for desert.

After our big dinner, we kids began preparing for our big night. We started by moving beds around and piling up pillows and mattresses in the largest bedroom of the house. We stocked that room with cookies, popcorn, candy, peanut butter sandwiches, Kool-Aid, and anything else we could find in the big kitchen pantry that might sustain us through this long night. We also laid in a large collection of "funny books" . . . Little Lulu, Tom & Jerry, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, and Nancy and Sluggo were our favorites. On this night we all four slept together in the same room, taking turns staying awake to listen for jingle bells, reindeer hoofs on the roof, or anything that might sound like Santa was entering the house. We vowed to stay awake all night, but that never happened. The harder we tried to stay awake, the sleepier we got!

When dawn finally broke on Christmas morning, we excitedly buzzed about, getting dressed and waiting for the signal from Daddy that we could come into the living room to see what Santa had brought us. We could smell the sulfur from the matches that Daddy used to light the gas heaters to warm up the rest of the house, and also to light the candles that were placed on occasional tables, nestled amid boughs of evergreen and glass ornaments that had lost their "tops" and couldn't be hung on the tree. About the time our anticipation reached a fever pitch, Daddy made the grand announcement: "All right kids.......line up! Youngest first! No pushing! No shoving! On the count of three, you can open the door!"

Obediently and with much exuberance, we aligned ourselves according to age. Little Tim was always first in line, I was next, then Jim and finally, Pat. The door slowly opened and we walked almost reverently into the living room, eight little eyes as wide as we could open them, trying to take in the whole wondrous scene in one sweep. There, in the corner of the room, stood our perfect Douglas Fir tree, decorated with the old lights that we'd had ever since Momma and Daddy got married, and many fancy, somewhat faded ornaments. Our special Christmas toys were tucked in and among the branches in the very places we had envisioned them being when we chose the tree. And at the very top, leaning forward a little because it was crammed up to the ceiling, was our bent up, bright red foil star with one red light bulb in the center of it, shining down magically like a beacon, welcoming four little tow-headed, awe-stricken children to Fantasy Land.

As our favorite Christmas carols softly played in the background, the tree lights and candles provided the only illumination until we had all taken our pre-chosen seats. Not one of us missed noticing the big bowl of old fashioned ribbon candy waiting for us, or the fact that Santa had actually eaten the cookies we had carefully placed on a saucer under the tree the night before! Finally, Daddy turned on the overhead lights while Momma handed us each a small pair of stubby-nosed scissors.

For the first few moments, we all sat in amazement and surveyed the many brightly done-up packages, pointing out to each other first one and then another, wondering who they might be for. Always there was a doll or two that was not wrapped, sitting with frozen smiles amongst the packages. Sometimes we'd spy the top of a yellow Tonka truck that we just knew had to be for Tim. And if there was an electric train slowly chugging its way among and around the gifts, that certainly had to be Jim's.

At last the moment we'd been waiting for was upon us. Daddy would become "Santa Claus" and start handing out gifts with much drama and deliberation. Our excitement grew to almost unbearable heights! Daddy was always certain to look among the gifts and give us each one present, and then he'd hand them out to us as he got to them. Nobody EVER opened a gift until every last one had been handed out. It just wasn't done! We enjoyed too much watching the expression on our sisters' or brothers' faces as Daddy gave them a present they had particularly admired. We didn't want to miss one moment of this blessed morning!

When the last gift had been distributed, we began to open our treasures, admiring and shrieking with delight as each paper was taken off to reveal the contents. We were as happy for what our brothes and sisters got as we were for what we received ourselves.

After we opened all of our gifts, we helped Daddy pick up the discarded paper and ribbons while Momma busied herself in the kitchen preparing our special Christmas breakfast. We ate pancakes, bacon, fruit and rolls until we were about to pop open, and then started on the ribbon candy! It seems that Santa never forgot to leave us each a bottle of Grapette or Delaware Punch in the ice box in addition to all the other goodies.

Later in the morning, Momma would announce to us all that we needed to gether up some of our gifts and we all needed to take a nap. We didn't mind, because that was part of the "tradition." We piled our beds high with our new toys and books and everything we knew we just couldn't surivive the next couple of hours without. We were all worn out, happy, and filled with warmth, good food, and complete contentment.

It wasn't until years later that we discovered the real reason for the Traditional Christmas afternoon nap. Momma and Daddy had stayed up all night long wrapping our presents for us, and they were absolutely exhausted! It was the only way they could face the excitement of four, healthy, noisy, active children for the rest of the day and long into the night!

Sometimes I sit in the light of my artificial Christmas tree and wish for those innocent days of yesteryear. Since that time, two more little girls were born to Momma and Daddy, Betsy and Sally. Both of my brothers are gone on to glory now, as well as my Daddy. Momma now spends Christmas with the family of one of her daughters, who have their own Christmases heavily laced with those traditions of old.

Years can fade those traditions, advanced age or illness can take our loved ones, and miles can separate us, but nobody can take away our memories of the good old days!