Christmas Past (part 2)---A Baking Frenzy, Package Patrol, Fuzzy Lights, the Arm Tickle, and Cream of Wheat
For Christmas each year, she also made several different kinds of candy. She made chocolate-covered cherries, million dollar fudge with walnuts in it, buckeyes, peanut brittle, and pink divinity made from strawberry or raspberry flavored powdered Jello gelatin mix. There were some years when she also made chocolate covered coconut candy from mashed potatoes and chocolate covered mint patties. It was amazing the number of sweets she churned out every December.
Once she finally decided she was done baking, then she would begin making up plates full and trays full and little boxes full of the cookies and candies that she had made. She gave these to our neighbors, the mailman, the lady who delivered our newspaper, any relative who happened to come to our house over the holidays, people my Dad worked with, our teachers at school, the minister at church, and many others down through the years. In spite of how many she gave away, plenty remained for us to enjoy over Christmas.
The days just before Christmas were charged with excitement as we speculated about what presents might appear for us under the tree on Christmas morning. The gifts we got for each other as family members would slowly start appearing under the tree in the days before Christmas. We weren't allowed to touch the packages. We did anyway, of course, because we were kids and the temptation was too great.
So my brother, sister, and I were constantly on package patrol and busy tattling on each other, "Mom, she's touching the packages!"
"No, I'm not! Besides, he did it first!"
Then, of course, Mom would have to give us the speech about how we had better be good because Santa was always watching us, and he would know if we misbehaved.
One thing I can remember doing, that, when I look back on it now, probably will sound a little odd. I have worn glasses since I was in first grade. Yes, I began wearing them at the age of six. I can remember after we had the Christmas tree up with all the different colored lights on it, that I would sit on the couch or chair near to the tree and just stare at it. I loved all the colors and the sparkling silver tinsel that reflected the lights. I was easily distracted by shiny things then (and still am now!).
After staring at it for a while with my glasses on, then I would take my glasses off and stare at it some more. I loved the way the colors of the lights went to soft focus and blurred all together. With my bad vision, the tree branches would fade into the background when I took off my glasses. All I could see then were the fuzzy rounds of colored light all blending together. It seemed so magical to me.
Christmas morning would finally arrive. We had to be quiet so as not to wake Mom and Dad. We were allowed to look in our stockings, but we weren't allowed to open any presents until after our parents were up and everyone had had breakfast. It was so hard to wait, and we were so impatient!
It really wasn't that exciting to open our stockings anyway. They held the same things every year. Down in the toe of our sock was an orange and a handful or two of mixed nuts in the shell. On top of that was wrapped store-bought candy like Hershey's kisses, candy canes, and perhaps a chocolate covered marshmallow Santa. We liked it, of course, but the main event was still to come--the opening of the gifts under the tree.
One year when I was still quite young, (I would guess I was probably about five years old, but I don't know for sure.) I remember sneaking into Mom and Dad's bedroom to see if they were awake yet. I was tired of waiting and wanted them to get up. My brother and sister warned me that I had better not do that and that I would get in trouble for sure. I ignored them and went in anyway.
I stood next to the bed and stared at my Dad trying to determine if he was really asleep or just keeping his eyes closed and pretending to be asleep. I couldn't tell so I took my index finger and very slowly and very gently ran it down my dad's forearm from his elbow to his wrist. In my child's mind, I thought that if I did it very softly that he wouldn't feel it if he were asleep, but that he would feel it if he were awake. Well, he really was asleep until my little finger tickled down his arm. It woke him up.
"What are you doing?" he asked me.
"I'm seeing if you're awake," I answered him back.
He laid there and looked at me for a while, still groggy, trying to wake up, and feeling quite puzzled, and then he started laughing.
My brother and sister could never figure out why I didn't get in trouble for waking up Dad that day. Well, it was Christmas after all, and I was the youngest and Daddy's little girl, I suppose. Every Christmas after that, though, he told about how I had come in and tickled his arm that day "to see if he was awake." He found me to be quite amusing, apparently, although I hadn't intended to be!
Once the parents were finally up and out of bed, we had to eat Cream of Wheat for breakfast before we could start opening any of our gifts under the tree. My Mom had gotten it into her head that we needed to have a good breakfast that would stick to our ribs before we started scarfing down Christmas candy. Cream of Wheat was her breakfast of choice for us. In the later years, once we kids were teenagers, she softened some on the "Cream of Wheat for breakfast" rule and began serving her homemade cinnamon rolls with powdered sugar glaze icing for breakfast instead. Well, it WAS Christmas, after all.
