Love Grows

Today as we lay awake, we recalled Christmas mornings of the past. Past as in 50 or so years ago.

I recalled a day when there were eight children, and two parents in a two bedroom house, with a screened back porch, a living room and a kitchen. That was it! No indoor bathrooms either.It was a very small house but in my mind it was not that small, It held us all perfectly. I never recall feeling overwhelmed with lack of space. That was the way life was.

However I never recall those days with sad memories. I recall our house a flurry of activity, just prepping for the holidays ahead. Christmas being the most anticipated and the best day of the year.



I recall running in the front door,to the old cast iron wood heater, (the heater stood about 5 feet inside the room) to warm my hands and feet.

We walked about a 1/4 mile to the bus stop every morning and afternoon, rain or shine, snow or sleet. We walked. I always had golloshers and a rain coat. I had a rain hat and the Mittens.
I also had the ugliest brown socks you ever saw, Argyle, but they were bought to keep my legs warm. I always left the house with them up to my knees, only to reach the bus and roll them down into a donut at my ankles.

I hated mittens. OH how I hated those mittens. They did not allow for finger movement and Mama always left the ties on them and wrapped the tie around the neck of my coat and down through the sleeves, so when I pulled the mittens off, they were not lost. (You know like the three little kittens)

As a matter of fact I recall her quoting that to me as she buttoned and tied me up for warmth.



But when Christmas was comign, the house smelled of apples and oranges. An odor we did not have every day in our lives.

The house smelled of pies and fruit cakes. (My Mamas fruit cakes were edible) .

The smell of sage and cornbread permeated the very walls of the little house.



Today I missed that flurry of activity. It was too Quiet. I missed the smell of apples and oranges and finding the monkey heads (coconuts) under the Christmas tree. (MY Daddy called them monkey heads and would punch the eyes out and let us drink the coconut milk,) Never being quiet sure what was going to come out as daddy kept up the ruse about the coconuts being Monkey heads.

I missed the traditonal Christmas dinner. I had baked nothing, no cookies and poor David did not get his chocolates, That will have to come later.

I missed the shoes lined neatly across the old sofa, so Santa would know where to leave our presents. I missed the noise level reaching a high cresendo as the men donned their hunting gear to go out and shoot that eluvise buck or whatever it was they killed. (still don't get that).

As you can see I am not a hunter and neither are my husband or sons. Thank God.



But Those Christmas are the Christmas of my youth. I am older now and no longer line my shoes up beside my brothers and sisters. We have each built our own lives and began our own traditions.

We watched as our own children experience the wonder of Christmas and the Story of the Christ Child. We watch now, as our grandchildren learn the same stores and our traditions are carried on generation to generation.

We know they have many fond memories of Those many Christmas mornings when the phone in our bedroom would ring, they were calling from their room to wake us up.

They had to see what Santa had brought, They were building memories of their own. They were building memories to last their lifetime.



Today my son called and said, "Thank you Mom and Dad for all the Great Christmas you gave us, I now know just how much work it was, but I also have great memories of those days."

We say Thank you for becoming the adults you have become, may you never forget your history.