With a lot of help from my sister-in-law, I'm trying to put a few pictures into my little life stories. I will add more as soon as I find some worthy. I do ask my new readers to go all the way back into my earlier blogs. It was my first and favorite story, "The Man in the Moon" about my Grandfather and me. Written from the heart.
I hope it renews some of your favorite memories also.
I have a lot of life to write and time is slipping. Yeah, I was in the Navy '66-70, and in Viet Nam. Some I'll share and some can't. You that know, know.
Be well and thank you for your time and interest.
d.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Christmas Box
It really was just an old pine box with a wooden lid. It was built to ship canned peaches and had a paper pin-up girl mostly intact on one end.
My Uncle had it for years. He had been on New Guinea during WWII and said he always remembered getting a can of peaches one Christmas Day. He found this box after he came home from the war, always retelling me the story.
I'm not quite sure how I came to own the box. I shared a bedroom with my folks until I was ten or so and my box never was far from my piece of the small room. It held my treasures and my dreams.
Christmas was always a special time. We were poor, but most everybody was poor. It didn't hurt the joy and excitement on every one's face. A lot of tree lots were around town. Even if it was seventy degrees, people were happy and excited. We had a tree most years, some a little picked over, but they smelled so good, like Christmas.
We had our Christmas gathering on Christmas Eve. We loaded up in the truck and off to Papa and Grandma's. A tarp would help a bit if it rained, but a wet Christmas couldn't dampen our spirits.
The twenty mile trip seemed to take forever. Going into Grandma's house, the wonderful smell of food, homemade candy and other delights filled the air. Even if we were having just a 'regular' meal, it smelled better just because it was Christmas Eve.
She always had a tree lit brightly, some real, some aluminum, but either one would fill the house with excitement. The presents we brought were added to those already under the tree.
Grandma was a big fan of making fudge or divinity, if it wasn't too rainy or humid. I ate both with an appetite only an eight year old could survive. After everyone had eaten, we would watch some Christmas music on the old black and white TV as I squirmed eagerly get to the presents.
Back then, a knife or a hatchet was a good present for a boy. I've still got the scars to prove it.
Clothes were the dreaded gifts, even when I needed new ones.
I got a 'varmint' call once. Just two pieces of plastic with a rubber band stretched through them. I blew that thing for hours on end out in the woods. Even my hound dogs gave up and went home. But it was a neat present.
Our presents were mostly modest, some homemade, but everyone was a treasure, except the clothes. Most of the presents came from my Papa and Grandma, but the gifts from my parents were just as appreciated and treasured.
What counted was that we were a family, sharing with each other on Christmas Eve.
I filled that old wooden box with as many treasures and presents as it would hold.
The old peach box finally gave way to age, but I just included it inside of me, memories and all.
Find your box somewhere, large or small, but keep your memories because they are the enduring spirit of Christmas.
Merry Christmas, folks.
My Uncle had it for years. He had been on New Guinea during WWII and said he always remembered getting a can of peaches one Christmas Day. He found this box after he came home from the war, always retelling me the story.
I'm not quite sure how I came to own the box. I shared a bedroom with my folks until I was ten or so and my box never was far from my piece of the small room. It held my treasures and my dreams.
Christmas was always a special time. We were poor, but most everybody was poor. It didn't hurt the joy and excitement on every one's face. A lot of tree lots were around town. Even if it was seventy degrees, people were happy and excited. We had a tree most years, some a little picked over, but they smelled so good, like Christmas.
We had our Christmas gathering on Christmas Eve. We loaded up in the truck and off to Papa and Grandma's. A tarp would help a bit if it rained, but a wet Christmas couldn't dampen our spirits.
The twenty mile trip seemed to take forever. Going into Grandma's house, the wonderful smell of food, homemade candy and other delights filled the air. Even if we were having just a 'regular' meal, it smelled better just because it was Christmas Eve.
She always had a tree lit brightly, some real, some aluminum, but either one would fill the house with excitement. The presents we brought were added to those already under the tree.
Grandma was a big fan of making fudge or divinity, if it wasn't too rainy or humid. I ate both with an appetite only an eight year old could survive. After everyone had eaten, we would watch some Christmas music on the old black and white TV as I squirmed eagerly get to the presents.
Back then, a knife or a hatchet was a good present for a boy. I've still got the scars to prove it.
Clothes were the dreaded gifts, even when I needed new ones.
I got a 'varmint' call once. Just two pieces of plastic with a rubber band stretched through them. I blew that thing for hours on end out in the woods. Even my hound dogs gave up and went home. But it was a neat present.
Our presents were mostly modest, some homemade, but everyone was a treasure, except the clothes. Most of the presents came from my Papa and Grandma, but the gifts from my parents were just as appreciated and treasured.
What counted was that we were a family, sharing with each other on Christmas Eve.
I filled that old wooden box with as many treasures and presents as it would hold.
The old peach box finally gave way to age, but I just included it inside of me, memories and all.
Find your box somewhere, large or small, but keep your memories because they are the enduring spirit of Christmas.
Merry Christmas, folks.
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