Christmas Days of Yore

Christmas, for me, is among other things a time of fond remembering. Some of my most vivid memories are of the late 1950s and early 1960s celebrations at the country home of the Trenchards, my uncle and aunt, in Deland, Illinois. In the middle of the endless Central Illinois farmland sat Bondurant Place. Named for Uncle Wendell's grandfather, it was nestled among hundreds of trees with a winding driveway. Truly a festive gathering place for my granddad, his nine children and their families.

I remember waking up early to see what Santa brought to our house at 18 West Winter in Danville. Mom and Dad were in their robes and we opened presents and hugged and laughed. It was hard to get me away without taking a favorite something to go on the road to Deland. But by the time we got to Champaign on two lane, snow packed roads, I was anticipating the event at Bondurant Place!

Uncle Wendell would be HO! HO! HOing at a door wrapped with an image of Santa! Aunt Helen would gleefully shriek at our arrival almost as if she didn’t know we were coming. "They're Here! They're Here!" they would exclaim. We were always the first to arrive...except that cousin Joan, her husband Taylor and the boys had spent the night...and had Christmas Eve together. The oldest son, Bon, would be down at the trains in the basement. I was so excited I could burst. People would start coming almost in order! Granddad and his companion Mavie were next, then Aunt Beulah, and then everyone else almost at once and then.....Aunt Nellie, Uncle Lester, Irene and Sarah! Always last...always anticipated with joy! Everyone received the happy "They're Here!" greeting. The smells of turkey and goodies filled the house. The cousins played mostly downstairs. There was no need for lots of toys...but there were plenty of them. We just delighted in each other. We shot each other with Ack-Ack Guns, played with the best model train set in the world, looked for spooks in the coal bin, explored the unknown....Every now and then one of the parents or uncles or aunts ventured down for a minute. They knew that we were OK but just wanted to share in the fun! My older cousins could only resist for awhile. We usually got them involved without much struggle!

Then came the call! Dinner was ready. All of the adults sat at the big table and the younger members at the children’s table. As people moved or died you graduated to the adult table. I never made it. The littlest kids sat in the adjacent sun room next to the kitchen and the older kids sat at the table in the hallway. Everyone hushed and Uncle Wendell called for order. Aunt Nellie said the blessing. Then we got in to the feast. What a feast it always was! Turkey, dressing (traditional and oyster), cranberries, mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls, fancy butter....place cards at every seat made by Aunt Cil....Oh Boy! When the main course was done we got to have special frozen Santa ice cream made just for us and Hickory Nut Cake (We all LOVE Hickory Nut Cake).

There was short a play time while we waited for the next tradition. In a few minutes we would all line up according to age and put our hands on the right shoulder in front of us. Sarah was always in front of me. Granddad Jones was first and held the long strand of Jingle Bells. Uncle Wendell would fire up his lights and movie camera. Then we marched through the house singing "Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle All The Way". Opening presents took forever! Someone would play Santa and bring a present one at a time. The relative would open it and we would all go "Oooh and Ahhh". Then the next one.

FINALLY...we could go and play again! It was back to the basement. Uncle Lester would fall asleep on the couch. The Moms would clean up and the other Dads would play gin rummy. This would be story time in by the fireplace in the basement. I would start with the most horrible ghost story that I had learned that year. Usually Strawn, Penn, Danny, or Debbie would sit on my lap. The room would hush. Terror would fill the room!

Now the call would come again! Aunt Helen would have made a special bag of goodies and leftovers for each family. It was time to go home. Sometimes I wanted to cry...but usually I was eager to get home to tell my buddies about "what I got". I could never relate to them that what I got at Bondurant Place was more important and more fun than anything that came in a beautifully wrapped box. It was dark and there was snow hanging on every branch. I fell asleep in the back seat of our Chrysler. Happy Family....Happy Christmas to all.

Awaiting The Wonderful

The fall and winter holiday seasons always seem so far away. There is plenty of time to plan and prepare. Then it swoops in like a hungry pelican over an ocean luncheon. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, New Years...here they are. I have gathered them all together in an Advent basket which I call The Wonderful. Each has tradition, joy, celebration, and a spirit of giving and receiving. And of course this has a story behind it.

Several years ago, my life-long best friend, Steve Magin, called a few days before Thanksgiving to chat about holiday plans. He ended the conversation by telling me to expect "The Wonderful" which made me question just what in the world he was talking about. His response was cryptic and playful. "You'll see" he chirped, and then hung up. That response bordered on curious and annoying. It stirred up memories of hidden Christmas presents cleverly stashed away in secret places by my parents. As a boy, I always made it a point to search for clues like Sherlock Holmes until, one by one, each wrapped enigma was discovered. The next thing was to try shaking, sniffing, or peeking under paper folds to determine the contents. I never quit until I was sure of about everything that would be under the tree. Anyway, I was sure that Steve would let me in on The Wonderful in due time, but such knowledge did little to stifle the nagging mystery. So, just like the boy I used to be, the quest of unraveling the riddle began. Google and other search engines didn't help a bit. A call back to Steve was little more than frustrating. When I told him I was waiting for The Wonderful, he just said it was on its' way. Well, great. The mail, UPS and FedEx brought good stuff to the door, but nothing tagged The Wonderful. Every morning had an element of anticipation to it. Surely whatever-it-was would arrive in one form or another today. It didn't occur to me until Christmas Eve that The Wonderful had been delivered every day since Thanksgiving. A bit of me had been magically transported to Neverland along with Peter, Wendy and the Lost Boys. The Wonderful brought back a delight that I thought had dimmed long ago.

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known. ~ Carl Sagan

So, with today being the first day of Advent, I would like to share my holiday basket with everyone who reads or listens to this. The Wonderful is coming. Reach in and you will find more than special calendar days, presents, elegant meals, parties and family gatherings. They are all in there. But don't stop looking. Pixie dust, sleigh bells, twinkling lights, and an unattached elusive shadow can be found too. And, of course, an abundance of unconditional Love. Childlike and barefoot, we might rediscover that eager anticipation is the essence of life. This is what makes undeniable the faith in a power greater than ourselves.

Thanksgiving Past; The Gift of a Perennial Message

Though my memories of childhood Thanksgivings in Central Illinois are not nearly as vivid or detailed with family lore as Christmases, they are fond all the same. We didn't go over the river and through the woods to be with the extended Jones Family in Monticello, but rather stayed in Danville and celebrated with my mother's family. Until the late 1950's the big feast was held at the Swisher Ave. home of my grandparents, Chester and Nora Baum. But they had made the decision to spend their golden Thanksgivings in Pompano Beach, Florida rather than endure the unpredictable midwestern weather of late November. So from then on we were left to our own devices. We gathered with the Glen T. Smith family either at our house or theirs. Helen Smith was Mom's sister. It was always fun and festive. Uncle Smitty was the expert of all expert turkey carvers and we always had plenty of food to take home or send along as the case might be.  Occasionally we went down to the family homestead in Indianola to be with our Sandusky cousins. They were always more fun than anyone I knew. But all of that said, there will always be one Thanksgiving from my childhood which I can never forget.

It was a week which began innocently enough. I had just turned 13 on November 17th. Now it was the 22nd. Mother and Dad were down in Florida helping my grandparents settle in to their winter digs while I was allowed to stay with my pal Scott Golden on Fletcher Ave. His house was adjacent to North Ridge Junior High School where I was in eighth grade. Everything was going fine. It was Friday with a fun weekend ahead. Then, after lunch, while I was in Art Class, the world changed and went into slow motion. There was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Allison, the librarian, whispered something to our teacher, Mrs. Gillis. She composed herself, and gave us the news that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. Soon the same information came over the loudspeaker from Mr. Yeazel, the principal. School was dismissed with the news of his death. I ran through the woods on a shortcut to Goldens, slipping into a cold ravine on the way. When I got to my friends house, his mother was crying in the living room. All I could think about was how awful it was to be without my parents when the world seemed to be ending. We called my mother in Florida and she promised they would fly back to Danville as soon as possible. I was so devastated and lonely.

Mom and Dad arrived at the Danville airport on Saturday night. I was never so glad to see them. We said goodbye to the Goldens and headed home. The next few days were pretty much spent in front of the television as our shocked and grief stricken nation mourned and processed. On Sunday, Dad shouted that Lee Harvey Oswald had just been shot. Mother and I were in the kitchen and came running out to see the murder replayed in front of our eyes. The next day was President Kennedy's funeral at St. Matthews Cathedral. We all watched John-John's salute. And then it was over.

Thanksgiving was only three days away. My friends in the neighborhood had started to do things outside again. There was some touch football and shooting hoops in Gary Cox’s driveway. School would be out until the next Monday. But we were all subdued. The idea of celebrating seemed out of the question. Nobody felt much like a big family gathering after all we had witnessed. So, our decision, like that of so many other families, was to keep it simple and stay at home. The 90 minute Macy Parade filled in the space where Monday's funeral procession to Arlington had been dominating our living room. Like the huge Donald Duck balloon that year, we were a bit deflated. Three people gathering around a turkey seemed rather bleak. Then my Dad, standing at the head of the table, gave us his message. It is one I'll always remember. He said;

This has been a hard week for everyone. But we will be okay. We have so much to be grateful for. We have a great country where women and men like Jack Kennedy fight and die for our freedom and way of life. Thanks to them we are safe. We have a warm home, good food, and our nice friends and family. Most of all, we have each other. Things won't be exactly the same after what happened in Dallas. But we will be okay.

And the clouds seemed to lift a little. We went down to the Sandusky/Stines on Saturday. There was a big party as always. With loving arms around us, we could be happy once again.

For the first time in history, an entire nation grieved together. It was on live TV. By grace, Thanksgiving followed. It was just the bandage we all needed to bind our wounds and carry on. Perhaps that's the simple message of this American holiday every year. Things may be rough, or even tragic. Empty chairs can be found around many tables. There have been other losses and disappointments. But then comes Thanksgiving. Ever since that first harvest celebration in 1621 of 53 Pilgrims and 90 Native People, we have been looking to the promise of new possibilities while thanking God for our rich blessings. We put aside our troubles in favor of gratitude and hope. Dad was right. With this spirit and attitude to guide us...We Will Be Okay.

Thanksgiving Departures

I am going to write about Thanksgiving gratitude and nostalgia in the coming days. Before that though, I feel the need to say in advance something that might help make this holiday a little more palatable.

The frost is on the pumpkins and the geese are getting fat.

These words combine an old English song and the poetry of James Whitcomb Riley. We were thinking about the coming Thanksgiving feast and anticipating Christmas when saying those words in mid-November back in my childhood. It seemed like everyone was going somewhere to gather with family, 'over the river and through the woods'. That hasn't changed so much except the trip to Grandma's is more likely braved on interstates and in airplanes than rural country road adventures. AAA (which we used to call Chicago Motor Club) says that "More than 55 million travelers are making plans to kick off the holiday season with a trip of 50 miles or more away from home this Thanksgiving." That’’s a bunch of turkeys in dire jeopardy

Our departures to family and friends must have a lot more to do with love than with cranberries, and pumpkin (or punkin) pie. So with all of this in mind, it is somewhat perplexing that Thanksgiving is noted as the most stressful holiday of them all.

I learned early on as a young social worker that our jobs would be most difficult around Thanksgiving. Domestic abuse of all kinds skyrocket. Drug and alcohol abuse increase as much as 33 percent. Accidents and coronary events spike. Interestingly, however, suicide rates actually fall at this time of the year. Either we are taking our frustrations out on everyone else while drinking ourselves numb, or family support gives us a sense of belonging and accountability.

I think all of these things combine to make treatment centers the busiest with new admissions after what is called our happiest holiday. Though it might seem rather sad, what a great outcome of Thanksgiving that people are confronted with their suffering and find a way to real, life sustaining and enriching help.

For the bulk of us, however, Thanksgiving joys bring with them less dramatic stressors. Getting the food prepared, tasty, and served hot is challenging enough. But this season, I have heard so many people near and dear, as well as spiritual advisors and other columnists worrying and warning about our family gatherings.

The political and religious polarization we are experiencing threatens to drive wedges and hurt feelings around dinner tables more than ever this year. Republicans and Democrats, Evangelicals and Spiritual Progressives, Pro-Trumpers and Never-Trumpers, Environmentalists and Skeptics, bring a defensive posture sometimes armed with arguments ready to explode over the green bean casserole.

I even found myself preparing a little dig for someone of an opposing belief system to mine. Finding a veiled innocent comment designed to agitate this rather aggressive person was tickling my fancy. But further reflection changed my mind. There is nothing to be gained and everything to be lost by setting the stage for a scene that would follow. Nobody would be changed. No heart would find its way to my side. And this brings me to the point of this writing about Thanksgiving Departures.

Back in those good ole days, fully recognizing that they weren't always as good as we remember, one phrase of sage wisdom about Thanksgiving and other family/friend get togethers could almost certainly get us through our gatherings this year and far into the future.

Here it is. Don't discuss politics or religion. Period. Exclamation point.

Leave them alone. I'm not saying to abandon passionate points of view and cherished belief systems at all. On the contrary, go deep, express yourself while listening carefully to the opinions of others. It is your civic responsibility. There is a time and a place for civil discourse, but not at our uniquely American annual day of gratitude. It might have been easier for The Greatest Generation to live out their cautionary message.

As Tom Brokaw has told us, they came home from war and didn't talk about their awful experiences. That probably made limited controversy around mashed potatoes a breeze in late November. So, enjoy the food. Embrace loved ones. Accept and honor differences. Have some fun telling stories of traditions, people and memories of years gone by. Then this Thanksgiving Departure free from rancor and divisiveness will long be remembered and treasured. They might even be cherished somewhere…around another table…as one of those wonderful “good ole days".

All Stirred Up

“You haven't learned life's lesson very wellif you haven't noticed that you can decide the reaction you want of people inadvance. It's unbelievably simple. If you want them to smile, smile first. Ifyou want them to take an interest in you, take an interest in them first. It'sas simple as that. People will treat you like you treat them. It's no secret.Look about you. You can prove it with the next person you meet.” ~ WinstonChurchill

The holidays have jump-started and are in full swing with Thanksgiving and Black Friday behind us already.  Today is often called Stir Up Sunday.  A Victorian tradition, it has been forgotten by many churches today. The Anglican Book of Common Prayer starts today's services with this Collect;

"Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may of thee be plenteously rewarded; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

This urging prayer also reminded cooks to get the Christmas pudding made in plenty of time to mature before Christmas Day.  One of the puddings has a coin cooked into it.  Whoever gets that pudding should get worldly riches heaped upon them. What a fun and spiritual way to get all stirred up for the wonderful days ahead.

Victorian Christmas Pudding

Churchill was a big advocate of Stir Up Sunday.  He loved Christmas pudding too…with a tankard of brandy of course.  He believed this season to be a fine time for stirring up our sluggish and sedentary wills that we might rise to action the slumber of our complacency. What a wonderful way to prepare for this season of good-will.

Good intentions are never enough. For the necessarypassion must come not only from an exterior Sunday prodding, but from aninterior fire to do what is right along with a consistent determination thatonly a resolved will can supply. It is up to each of us to recreate the messageand mission of Christmas this year. For Peace on Earth will only come as aresult of our own efforts. Let’s stir it up.