Well, it is that time of year as I write this and I could go all over the map (year-wise) as I am wont to do. Most people who love me and get the way my brain works must also be very fond of rollercoaster rides. So, buckle up!
The only photos I could find in the-ghost-from-Christmases-past category were of me as a baby and then around age six or seven with my drum majorette doll. There must be many other shots somewhere in the family, just not with me.
I remember leggings like these where an elastic ran under your shoe. I also remember
boots where we wore our shoes inside. Do they still make them like that?
At first glance, I thought this was my Barbara Ann Scott doll but, no skates.
My teeth look a bit odd so I must have been in the loose tooth and losing them years.
My teeth look a bit odd so I must have been in the loose tooth and losing them years.
Mum and Dad made Christmas magical for their kids. Sometimes risking life and limb in the process. Or, as Mum put it the year (1949ish) I was about five or six, “What are those damn fools doing up there on the roof. They’ll kill themselves”.
We spent that Christmas in Windsor with our Grannie, our Dad’s mother, Eleanor. Before we went to bed the three girls … Gina, Jacqueline and Marlene were all lined up on a long footstool in front of the fire at our Auntie Kit and Edie’s house on Lake St. Clair. We were told to shout our Christmas wish up the chimney, (without scorching our innocent faces on the burning fire) so Santa could hear it.
Apparently, I called up a last-minute request for a doll that threw my parents for a loop. As it so happened, Grannie had made me a doll, she ... or rather, they, were two dolls in one. At one end she had peach-coloured flesh and yellow braids. If you lifted her dress and turned her upside-down her dress changed and she became a whole (well, half actually) different person with dark brown skin and tiny black pigtails all over her head. Yes, it sometimes bothered me, being the precise person I can be, that neither doll had legs but, aside from that, I loved them to bits, both of them, so much so that as an adult I saw and bought a small version of my now gone favourite childhood doll(s) which I still have on a shelf and often stop by and turn her into that other person. Were they my first hints at a kind of unity I’d later come to understand better?
Meanwhile back at the fools on the roof. That would have been our Dad and Uncle Bill. They were up there pretending to be Santa’s reindeer in order to give the three girls the thrill of a lifetime. Being the youngest at that time, I’d either fallen asleep or don’t remember actually hearing the reindeer but remember the story that became a family legend. Apparently, they had enjoyed a few too many Christmas Eve celebratory pints.
I clearly do remember all of us skating on Lake St. Clair that special Christmas and the terrible fright when Gina fell through the ice. Well, it turned out to be one leg only that went into a large crack, but that was enough to build in us a respect for treading on thin ice.
Believing in the magic of Santa Claus was a wonderful thing for me and the greatest part was that eventually each of us has the wherewithal to become Santa and pass the magic and generosity along to others. However, in later years Christmas did lose its magic. Was it the commercialism, the pressure to try, unsuccessfully, pleasing too many people or just that it was time to let it go? I don’t know. I just know in spite of trying for the same magical feeling for my children at this time of year, I think it didn’t happen for them in the same way. I guess they’ll just have to write their own stories.
We always had to leave the house for 'the visits' on Christmas day. I guess mostly we were back home for dinner as I don't recall dinners with aunts, uncles and grandparents. I do remember Mum and Dad putting enormous turkeys into the oven. Often they stayed up all night, or at least very late, to get those birds dressed and into the oven.
We often visited graveyards on Christmas to remember those loved ones who were no longer with us and to place a wreath. That wasn't high on the hit list for us kids so, Mum and Dad called a 'Games Day' for Boxing Day. We got to play with all our Christmas games and toys for the entire day ... we stayed in our pajamas and ate turkey sandwiches. The perfect turkey sandwich, by the way, has Miracle Whip spread on one slice of bread with cranberry sauce on the other. Sausage meat, which was always stuffed into the neck end of Mum's turkeys also goes in, if there is any left. I'm a white meat person so, plenty of that with lettuce and let us not forget ... Ta-Da ... stuffing. Mum always made a very moist dressing with plenty of sage, so much sage that the dressing was somewhat green ... but great! Games Day remains a favourite Christmas memory. In fact, games were around for us throughout the year. Mum and Dad often joined in. We grew up playing games of all sorts. I later learned how important those games were in helping us learn how to strategize. It couldn't have hurt to learn to be good losers as well.
We always had to leave the house for 'the visits' on Christmas day. I guess mostly we were back home for dinner as I don't recall dinners with aunts, uncles and grandparents. I do remember Mum and Dad putting enormous turkeys into the oven. Often they stayed up all night, or at least very late, to get those birds dressed and into the oven.
We often visited graveyards on Christmas to remember those loved ones who were no longer with us and to place a wreath. That wasn't high on the hit list for us kids so, Mum and Dad called a 'Games Day' for Boxing Day. We got to play with all our Christmas games and toys for the entire day ... we stayed in our pajamas and ate turkey sandwiches. The perfect turkey sandwich, by the way, has Miracle Whip spread on one slice of bread with cranberry sauce on the other. Sausage meat, which was always stuffed into the neck end of Mum's turkeys also goes in, if there is any left. I'm a white meat person so, plenty of that with lettuce and let us not forget ... Ta-Da ... stuffing. Mum always made a very moist dressing with plenty of sage, so much sage that the dressing was somewhat green ... but great! Games Day remains a favourite Christmas memory. In fact, games were around for us throughout the year. Mum and Dad often joined in. We grew up playing games of all sorts. I later learned how important those games were in helping us learn how to strategize. It couldn't have hurt to learn to be good losers as well.
Meanwhile back to the writing of our own stories ... I'd give anything at this age to know more about my parent's and ancestor's lives but, alas, much is gone. So, for those who wonder why I'd write about my life in personal detail well, let me try to explain.
I've learned so much from reading about the lives of others, memoirs and biographies being among my favourite reading material. My life has been fairly eventful, she said holding her breath, and I'm still living through it with a fairly cheerful heart and soul. I don't observe that in some others I've known so, if I've locked into something that has helped me face life and all it offers by way of tests and difficulties, perhaps others will benefit. And, if not for that, perhaps my children, who I doubt are reading this 'now', will understand at some point, how life molded me. It might also help them understand that although I've maintained an overall positive outlook, I'm not without my moments when they too, want and wanted, to clear the room.
I married into a family that doesn't hug so, for this particular Christmas I warned my husband's Granny that all I wanted from her was a hug. I love how happy she looks in this photo. 1975
1979 - Daughter Emma, not too certain about modeling the Christmas stocking I knit for her.
1981 - Me, Michael, Ben, the Don Mills Santa and Emma. I was pregnant here with Dana.
Emma & Ben wearing the family's Christmas stockings. Ben was still waiting for his knitted-by-mummy sock. I'm guessing 1982.
This must have been the year the joy of music was instilled in the heart of Ben.
Wow, a Fisher-Price record player.
When Emma & Ben wore these outfits people found it hard to believe that, not only were they two years apart in age and not twins but, genetically-speaking, they were not related.
This was in our Port Perry house where we lived from '85-'95.
Emma's bunny is Eric and even he had to model his Christmas stocking.
There came a time when Ben didn't want "some old guy coming into my room while I'm asleep" so, the stockings were hung in the parent's upstairs bedroom ... with care.
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