My youngest daughter had the misfortune of being born on Christmas Day. As she was growing up, we always tried very hard to make sure she was not "short changed" when it came to birthday gifts and Christmas gifts. However, just recently she expressed that her memories of Christmas were that explanations were given to her that Santa "forgot". Her older sibling, ten years older, and I both expressed surprise as neither of us were aware that the baby of the family with the unfortunate birthday ever got short shift at Christmas/Birthday time. There was a Christmas that one of our children experienced a very disappointing Christmas morning, and it was not the youngest one.
The year was 1962, Kathy was 10 years old. Barbie dolls were the big toys of the time. And, of course, clothes to dress them in. I was working; full time, plus still nursing our year old daughter, plus all the duties of housekeeping and caring for a home. A neighbor, who was sewing Barbie doll clothes for her daughter and another neighborhood child, came to me to ask if I had any fabric scraps that would make suitable doll clothes. Of course I did! And, I also had patterns for Barbie doll clothes. The neighbor said she would make dresses for Santa to leave at our house in exchange for the fabric and the use of the patterns.
Just a few days before Christmas, our son, Jim, had an emergency appendectomy. Between being at the hospital with him, working, being a wife and mother, I had precious little time to even think. The day before Christmas, I went to the sewing lady's house to collect the Barbie dresses she had promised me. "Oh", she exclaimed, "I am so sorry, but I just didn't have time to make your doll clothes. Here is the left-overs of the fabric you gave me. Do you mind if I keep the patterns a while longer?" "Yes, I mind", I replied. I must now go home and try to sew some doll clothes between now and tomorrow morning!" I must have shown how angry I was because we were never very neighborly after that.
We brought our boy home from the hospital and had a little Christmas Eve birthday celebration with ice cream and cake. I should mention at this point of my story, that Jim's birthday was the 24th of December!
After everyone was finally tucked into bed, I burned the midnight oil sewing a doll dress. I remember it still. There was enough of a navy blue silk brocade left to make a Chinese style sheath dress. I remember groggily sewing little crystal buttons on the shoulder about the time the sun was getting ready to come up.
Christmas Morning! Kathy expressed her pleasure at the new dress for her Barbie. I do not remember any of the rest of the holiday. Many years later, Kathy told me how hurt she was when she went to see her friends to compare Barbie clothes. She had the one new dress, and they had five or six new dresses all made from fabric Kathy knew had come from my stash.
This memory of Christmas Past still haunts me today. I would sew her a hundred doll dresses if it would change anything. This wonderful girl, although deeply disappointed, has never expressed a grudge against me. She has constantly expressed her gratitude to me for the things I have managed to do for her over the years. Is it any wonder that I love her more than life itself?
Monday, November 29, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
A November Morning Glorious Adventure
Heavy frost on the picnic table at 5:30 AM. George is getting ready to go deer hunting. He brought me my morning cup of coffee and the newspaper. Hazel knows he is going someplace and is prancing around excitedly, hoping she will get to go. Sorry, little dog. George is gone. I read the whole newspaper and ate cinnamon toast.
Hazel went out after George left, and cleared all the rabbits and stray cats out of the "back forty". When I thought she had been out longer than usual, I went to look for her and caught her running along the outside of the front fence, trying to sneak back into the yard. She stopped short when she saw me. I used my meanest voice to scold her and as she ran through the opened patio door, I managed to get a good whop on her backside with the leash strap that I had in my hand. She went straight to her kennel. After a while, she came out, all wiggle waggles, with that "see what a cute good girl I am" look on her face. All was forgiven, and she spent the rest of the morning snoozing by my feet.
I spent the morning painting iridescent autumn leaves on quilt blocks and listening to Josh Grobin, Susan Boyle and Simon and Garfunkel melodies.
It is cold outside, warm inside. I am perfectly content. This is exactly how I imagined old age and the winter of my life should be. I do not have to go any place, do not have to do any household chores unless I choose to. I am still in my nightgown.
Our beloved Crystal sent us a message on Facebook today, telling us she is out of the hospital, living in a residential out-patient unit, and doing well. There are two new pictures of her on her Facebook page. In one she looks just like her Mother. In the other, she is the exact image of her Dad. How does she do that? No matter who she is resembling at the moment, she is beautiful. I remember her as a little girl with dark curly hair and silver hoops in her ears--our little Gypsy Girl.
This may not sound like much of a glorious adventure to anyone else, but it is very satisfying to me.
Heavy frost on the picnic table at 5:30 AM. George is getting ready to go deer hunting. He brought me my morning cup of coffee and the newspaper. Hazel knows he is going someplace and is prancing around excitedly, hoping she will get to go. Sorry, little dog. George is gone. I read the whole newspaper and ate cinnamon toast.
Hazel went out after George left, and cleared all the rabbits and stray cats out of the "back forty". When I thought she had been out longer than usual, I went to look for her and caught her running along the outside of the front fence, trying to sneak back into the yard. She stopped short when she saw me. I used my meanest voice to scold her and as she ran through the opened patio door, I managed to get a good whop on her backside with the leash strap that I had in my hand. She went straight to her kennel. After a while, she came out, all wiggle waggles, with that "see what a cute good girl I am" look on her face. All was forgiven, and she spent the rest of the morning snoozing by my feet.
I spent the morning painting iridescent autumn leaves on quilt blocks and listening to Josh Grobin, Susan Boyle and Simon and Garfunkel melodies.
It is cold outside, warm inside. I am perfectly content. This is exactly how I imagined old age and the winter of my life should be. I do not have to go any place, do not have to do any household chores unless I choose to. I am still in my nightgown.
Our beloved Crystal sent us a message on Facebook today, telling us she is out of the hospital, living in a residential out-patient unit, and doing well. There are two new pictures of her on her Facebook page. In one she looks just like her Mother. In the other, she is the exact image of her Dad. How does she do that? No matter who she is resembling at the moment, she is beautiful. I remember her as a little girl with dark curly hair and silver hoops in her ears--our little Gypsy Girl.
This may not sound like much of a glorious adventure to anyone else, but it is very satisfying to me.
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