Christmas box replaced

Sharing some Christmas memories with my big sister today of our “under privileged” childhood, before our parents took regular paying jobs, but produced a gaggle of needy children, nonetheless.

Dad was a struggling, self-employed author at the time, and shipped out his own books. So often we didn’t have a tree, but instead decorated a large “Christmas Box” made from a used shipping carton. We put our little gifts inside it for our brothers and sisters.

Mom taught piano and voice; parents drove their children out into the country for $1.25 a lesson and were billed for it monthly from her Royal Typewriter propped up in the sewing room. We had to stay quiet so as not to disturb the lessons being taught on the baby grand in the music room.

Some years, my creative sister would produce original skits for our parents, the creaking hallway sliding double-doors served as curtains, while the next act readied itself. I produced a fake adjustable mike for shorter siblings: sliding yardsticks sleeved in tinfoil.

Gifts opened, off to bed; mom headed to town to sing in the annual night time “Jingle Bells” Christmas radio fundraiser where callers would request performances in exchange for pledges. Too late for us to listen in on KXRA, mom eventually cooled on her volunteer gig when she learned that (gasp) some of the emcees had taken an alcoholic drink!

These Christmas eve memories come in a mash-up of years and conflicting recollections, but one I hold true:

Upon learning that the Rolfsruds wouldn’t have a real Christmas tree, a parent of one of mom’s students drove by briefly, and tossed a fresh Christmas tree onto our front lawn. We quickly grabbed it and decorated it with tinsel and bulbs. Wonderful, such a neat gift. Such a beautiful addition.

But it would be years later that I would grasp and appreciate the true beneficiary of that unexpected kindness; it was not us, but the thoughtful giver who would have been undoubtely endowed with that Super Feeling that comes with the True Spirit of Christmas.

May you all experience that on this blessed day.

The first of many subsequent church solos

I watched with fondness today as the little children’s church choir sang out their Christmas tunes. Brought me back to my childhood at The First English Lutheran Church Christmas concerts, while in my formative years.

It is a moment my sweet mother related to me years later. I was obliviously earnest and childlike at the time. Don’t really know how old I was.

A simple country boy, it was always special to drive the maroon Dodge into town for Church and Sunday School with the town kids. They always appeared to be better groomed, knowledgeable and cosmopolitan, but I didn’t mind. So when 30 of us  practiced for the Christmas performance, I was most diligent, appreciating the importance and privilege of this coming event.

When our director told us to memorize the words to the carol, I did. When she told us to practice singing very loud, I did.

The church was packed with the faithful that night, proud parents mixed with the devout. There were no cameras, recordings;  no buzzing, parishioners sat respectably with the bygone reverence so missing today. The sacred service began, and soon it was the turn of the children’s choir, clad in pink stoles, with big black bows. We rose to present our music, pre-schoolers? Don’t remember.

My late mother tells the story. It turned out that no one had memorized the words. No one sang loud.  Except Stanley, the Country Kid, oblivious to his surroundings, confidently belting out the words in a loud soprano. Aghast at the other few mumblers standing beside Stanley, the horrified director turned her sole attention to the only singer who had done as he was told.

lt was my first ever solo performance, sung before a proud mother and an amused Christmas audience. 

Happy Birthday Alex

 Friends, relatives and caregivers gathered for a special event Sunday: the 35th anniversary of the birth of Alex Rolfsrud. With a birthday so easily over shadowed because of its proximity to the birth of Jesus, we managed to push all that aside and have a hi -  ho time, with buffet, cake and gifts and a song. Many more, Alex!

Added attraction was his brother's special guest, and we managed to vet her thoroughly and pronounce her most worthy of his affections.

Charcuterie!

 Let the celebrations begin! Our holiday party went all out this year, free bar and a flood of food samples that made up for the years of want, when Covid prevented such congregating. An ugly sweater contest and copious Christmas costuming capped the proceedings, with winners and prizes to be announced tomorrow. Stan entered the contest with some doubts about his success, given that some resident's enthusiasm that included costumes powered by lithium batteries. All he had was a mere brass bell hung around the Holstein's neck.

Update! Stan won the Ugly Sweater contest, but sadly, some grinch stole most of the prizes before they could be awarded. All that was left was the first place prize of a blender and a blanket. In the spirit of the holidays and because he already owns a blender and a blanket, the winner donated them back for the owners of the less ugly sweaters, the losers, if you will. A win win. Stan has the prestige of the Ugliest sweater, the losers get prizes. All good.

It's Now Official!

 There's Black Friday, Advent, winter solstice, trees and lights, cards and concerts, but nothing that says it's holiday season more at our house than when Kathleen gets out the cookie press and starts popping out the little treats that say: "It is now Christmas!" May we be among the first to greet you for the holiday and invite you soon for a Cup of Christmas Tea and a little snack.

Cookie monster

 

Stan got bit trying to assemble a new cookie press acquired recently by Katie, the Christmas Cookie Queen. Fortunately, Nephew Aaron stopped by, and figured out the new Chinese beast, and then we slowly got it rolling, eventually cranking out the annual treats in jig time. 

In another nod to high tech, this year Siri prompted Katie when each batch was ready to come out. 

At right: It drew blood even before we started.

When can we get out of here??

After destroying her cheesy cardboard cat carrier and a subsequent jail break attempt, Bubbles meekly submitted to her annual rabies and distemper shots and exam today. Our local vet, Dr. J, then clipped her nails and pronounced her good to go. As is apparent, Bubbles was more than ready to return to her private digs on Tech Drive.

Christmas cat?

"All snug in her bed, while visions of sugar plums dance in her head?" 

Do cats dream? Do cats know what time of year it is? Do they notice the shorter days? So much to ponder.