Christmas

When I was little my family had an unusual Christmas tree.  I wish I had a photo of it.  I expect my parents picked it up at the DI.* It came in a big square box.  The stand was broken and some of the branches were missing, so my parents would take out the tree, close the box flaps in a particular way and put the trunk of the tree through the hole in the center of the top of the box.  Then mom would wrap a white sheet around the box.  It kind of looked like a small tree sitting on a table top.  Kind of.  We had lights on the tree that looked like two inch globes dipped in colored rock salt.  There were tin ornaments shaped like birds and Santa and other things, reminiscent of the Victorian era.  But mostly the tree was covered in handmade ornaments that us kids brought home from Primary* and elementary school every year.  And there was an Angel.  She was an iridescent white cone with a head and some feathery wings.  I don't know where she came from but I remember my mother treating her very carefully.  She must have been important to her.

The recession of the late 1970s that propelled Ronald Reagan to the presidency was not good to my family.  Dad was unemployed for a while. My little sister, Elanor, was born with Down's syndrome.  She has always been an absolute joy and a lot of work, worry, and stress for my parents.  My Sandberg grandparents kept the freezer full of meat and the storage room full of home canned peaches.  My Hinchcliff grandparents provided bananas, store bought bread,* and powdered caked donuts with raspberry filling*.  And Christmas and birthday presents, school clothes, Easter dresses and I can only guess what else.  Grandma and Grandpa Hinchcliff lived nearby and we visited them often.  We loved to play in the basement where all the random things from the previous 50 years were kept.  Dress ups that my grandma had actually worn in the 60s, doll dresses stitched by hand for actual babies long since grown, endless piles of scratch paper left over from the middle school math and science classes my grandpa taught, and the giant electric train table kept us busy for hours.  But, after Thanksgiving the basement was off limits.  I don't remember ever really thinking about it, but obviously that's where all the gifts were stored.  There was one year when a crazy snow storm came through on Christmas Eve and my parents informed us that Santa was unable to get through and had, therefore, left all the presents at grandma's house.  We accepted that and happily enjoyed all of our Santa presents when we got to Grandma's.  I'm not sure it ever occurred to us that if Santa could get to Grandma's he could get to our house, it wasn't that far. I think I used a lot of willing suspension of disbelief as a kid.  I don't remember anyone telling me who Santa Claus really was, I just kind of always knew and didn't really think too hard about it.

That Christmas when dad was unemployed and Elanor was little must have been really hard for my parents.  We received regular food orders through the church (the raspberry jam was really good).  I don't remember understanding why, but I remember unpacking the boxes and being amazed at all the food.  As Christmas approached, strange things started happening.  One night there was a knock on the door and a man we didn't know stood on our porch with a giant bag.  He handed it to my parents, wished us Merry Christmas, and left.  The bag was filled with games.  Some of those games are still on the shelf in my mother's basement.  Another day the doorbell rang and there stood all the teenagers from our church with a beautiful Christmas tree.  A real Christmas tree, with matching handmade decorations.  They also had food and gifts.  When they placed the tree and plugged in the lights Elanor got so excited.  She was sitting on my mom's lap, waving both arms and legs in the air with the biggest, happiest smile I have ever seen.  I learned later that that experience, especially Elanor's reaction, was a truly meaningful experience for those teenagers.  They felt the joy of giving.  Maybe it was hard for my parents to accept all that help, but I could see the joy serving my family brought to the people standing on our porch.  It felt like Christmas every day for me.

*DI- Deseret Industries, a thrift store owned and operated by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Utah/Idaho/Arizona.  It is used for job training like Goodwill, as well as a place church leaders can go to get clothes and household goods for families and individuals in need.

*Primary- Sunday school for kids ages 3-11 in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

*My mom always made homemade bread.  I didn't really like it.  The crust was thick and tough and it didn't make very good sandwiches.  The bread would crumble to bits.  I remember one day some friends were over and going crazy about having homemade bread.  It was the first time I remember realizing that homemade bread was special.  I've learned to appreciate homemade bread since then, but I still don't prefer is for sandwiches.

*They don't sell those in Michigan.  We got some last time we were in Utah and they were good but not as good as I remember.  Maybe they changed the recipe.  Ya, that's it.  We didn't eat a lot of treats so the treats grandma brought were well appreciated.