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Christmas Magic

CHRISTMAS MAGIC

Christmas was Magic, the sparkling time of year, when I was

growing up.

My daddy always cut our Christmas tree from the woods in

Durham County. Every tree was a BIG one that touched the

ceiling. He found the ones with branches that could hold the

decorations we accumulated year by year.

The tree went into the living room beside the front window so

that when the lights were on you could see it from the street.

Daddy’s job was to get the tree and put the lights on it. Of course,

my mother supervised the placement so that the entire tree was

evenly lit with large, multi-colored bulbs.

When Daddy brought the Christmas tree in, the time for fires in

the living room fireplace began. We didn’t use the living room in

the fall, winter, and early spring because we didn’t heat the

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living room, and it was cold!

But, when Daddy brought the Christmas tree in, he would begin

lighting a fire at night and on the weekends so that the room

would be a warm place for decorating and enjoying the tree.

The fire in the fireplace was not a wood fire. Coal was the fuel.

Big lumps of coal brought inside in a metal coal basket with a

handle. Gasoline was the starter. When we were little, we

couldn’t be in the living room until after the fire was lit. We

would clap and cheer from the door of the dining room when we

heard the loud swoosh of the gasoline being lit.

And the room would warm. Then we could go in the room and

decorate the tree, after Daddy had the lights just right, of course.

My job quickly became the icicles when I was old and careful

enough to hang them so they didn’t tangle. All the ornaments

had to be on the tree before the icicle process started. I

remember watching my mother hang the icicles over several

nights so that the tree glistened from the tree lights and from

the fireplace. I was quite proud when I was allowed to put those

icicles on the tree. As a teenager, this was MY responsibility. To

me, there was nothing any prettier than a fully decorated tree

covered with icicles hanging in the hundreds from every branch.

There was the wrapping of the presents. A few we had bought or

made during the year, but most of the presents the children gave

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each other and our parents were purchased on a big shopping

trip Christmas Eve. A big glass pig sat on the mantle in our

dining room (which was really our sitting room as well as dining

room when the weather was cold because it was the only heated

room in the house). Both my parents put their loose change in

the pig throughout the year. On Christmas Eve, my daddy would

empty the pig and divide the change three ways: for Betsy, Carol,

and Steve. That money was our Christmas shopping money.

Both parents would take us to the dime store to shop. We

would divide up with the parents and buy presents…keeping our

purchases secret from the recipients so that Christmas presents

would be a surprise. We went to great lengths to be sure that no

one saw their gift!

After the shopping, we took the presents home and went to

different areas in the dining room and living room to wrap them.

Then, we would start our guessing games. We could look at our

presents after they were wrapped, but we couldn’t touch them.

Over the years our guesses got better and better.

Another Christmas Eve tradition was opening the box from our

grandparents who lived in California. The box had wonderful

things to eat: oranges, almonds, fruitcake, all specialty items

that we were not able to buy at the Durham grocery stores. A new

sweater or, occasionally, a wool or corduroy skirt or dress for

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Betsy and me were in the package. I ALWAYS got the red, while

Betsy got the blue. Of course, blue became my favorite color!

Santa came during the night. We got our school clothes at

Christmas. Until I was fourteen or fifteen, my mother picked and

bought any store-bought clothes we had. A new Church outfit

was also a staple.

The rule Christmas morning was that we couldn’t get up and go

into the living room until the fire was lit and it was, at least, a

little warm. Betsy’s and my bedroom opened off the living room

and Steve’s opened off ours. The three of us would wrap up in

our blankets and sit in the door and try to see what our Santa

gifts were from the door. We each had an area where our clothes

and gifts were laid out.

I have told the story of my first Christmas memory in the story

names “Bikes.”

As we entered our mid-teens the traditions continued. I

remember one year we got a carom board. And a small pool table

was the HUGE gift another year. Games like Monopoly and

Parcheesi and checkers were Santa gifts over the years. Then

Church books became prized gifts.

I do not remember when the tradition of dividing the piggy bank

and Christmas Eve shopping stopped. Maybe when I started

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working in the summers when I was thirteen. Or maybe later. I

do not know.

My mother always had a deep sadness at Christmas which she

tried to cover. Her older sister Edith had died in an automobile

accident early in the hours of Christmas morning in 1948 as she

and her family were driving from Georgia to California for the

holidays. Leon Gilmore, her husband, drove the car. A large truck

had motor trouble and pulled off the road in Louisiana. Only the

right taillight worked. My uncle plowed into the left side of the

rear of the truck, killing Edith, who sat in the passenger seat and

breaking the leg of their infant daughter Camilla, who lay with

her head in her father’s lap. The two boys, Preston (7) and

Walton (5) were not hurt.

Almost every Christmas after that, we would come upon Mother

crying in the kitchen or her bedroom on either Christmas Eve or

Christmas Day. We knew why.

As we got older, we began to participate in the Church activities

planned around Christmas. Particularly Betsy loved to go

caroling, and we loved it when the carolers came to our house,

singing on the front porch.

By the time I was a senior in high school, I began going to Duke

University Chapel every year to hear their choir sing the

Halleluiah Chorus.

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Pictures in front of the Christmas tree were usual throughout the

years. I have some of these still and will post so that you can see

our beautiful trees (with their icicles) in the living room on

Briggs Avenue.

The sweet, sparkling magic of Christmas followed me into

adulthood. I tried to recreate that for my children.

Written November 02, 2013.

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Notice how the icicles get straighter and thicker every year.

The top picture is 1955. I was 12.

The second is 1956. I was thirteen.

The next pictures are 1959. I was sixteen. The man/boy in one of

the 1959 pictures is Mike Enfield, my fiancée. Another story!

The last picture is 1960, with Betsy and me in front of the

fireplace. Can you see the lumps of coal burning?