Christmas, Christmas!
Growing up in South Jersey, we knew better than to dream of a white Christmas, but Mother compensated for it. Before the Thanksgiving leftovers were eaten, Mother would pile several 78 rpm records on the stereo and fill the house with Christmas joy from Bing Crosby to George Beverly Shea.
Early in December, Mother and her best friend, Anna Mae, would take a Saturday trip to Philadelphia to do their Christmas shopping. Gimbels and Wanamaker’s were their favorite department stores. They watched as their cash and purchase slips were enclosed in a cylinder like our drive-through bank and soared up and through an elaborate clear tubing a few feet below the ceiling and out of sight. In minutes, it would return from the office with their receipts.
They always enjoyed a lunch break at Horn and Hardart’s Automat. It was the forerunner of fast food. The walls were lined with small, glass windows, each holding a different main dish, side, or dessert. When you dropped a few coins into a slot and turned a dial, the door would open.
We had a kind Italian neighbor who brought a tray of home-baked cookies each year. They were so different from the traditional ones baked by my grandmother. I was mesmerized by the cream-filled cookies that melted in my mouth. The flat, golden-brown ones were imprinted with an intricate design. Others were twisted, filled with minced nuts, and covered with confectioner’s sugar. It was my first exposure to cookies filled with sweet, dark goodness.
In the evenings, we would pile in the car and drive around our town, enjoying all the Christmas lights and lawn decorations.
Another tradition we had was a point of envy or amusement in elementary school. When children would ask, “Is your tree up yet?” We would reply, “Santa brings our tree.” There was no sign of the tree hidden out of sight, beyond the garage. Christmas morning, we awoke to the smell of pine. We weren’t allowed downstairs until our father had turned on the tree lights. We walked downstairs to the sight of a Christmas tree lit and piles of presents. There was always a box of the thinnest ribbon candy from Anna Mae.
Our church always planned a Christmas program, an opportunity to share the true meaning of Christmas with friends and neighbors.
