"Christmas In Western Kansas, 1937" by Aldwyn

A Christmas candle is a lovely thing: it makes no noise at all, but softly gives itself away…   -Eva Logue

The summer had been full of heat, dust clouds and wet sheets tacked over windows to keep out Western Kansas dirt.  This country was a land of extremes.  Monday could begin with a still, white, hot landscape and finish with black rolling clouds full of soil and the makings of a tornado.  Everyone talked about the weather, as rain was the difference between hunger and good times.  A lack of moisture not only brought crop failure but also a loss of income for all as well. 

We were lucky, for our father was a rural mail carrier and one of the few to receive a regular paycheck.  People would often wait at their mailbox to pass the time of day and hear local news; it might be their only entertainment of the week.   Times were hard.  I remember mother and father talking about the young family across the street who had only a pot of beans to see them through the week.  There were three children, but all appeared happy and satisfied with their lot. 

The fall had been somewhat unsettled as my older brother had entered the first grade and I was forced into the position of entertaining myself.  Utterly bored, I began to sit and talk with our jersey calf in the back pen by the garage.  I can still recall that dusty, dry coral as I lay against her ribs and listened to gentle, bovine breathing.  December turned cold, drought conditions persisted and the winds continued to blow.   

Christmas preparations began to make sense in a convoluted sort of way.  Mother had made a silhouette of three wise men, camels and the Bethlehem skyline out of blue cellophane.  She placed this on the large front window so that the light could shine through.  It was magic.  I could spend hours on my knees looking at the scene while hanging over the back of the divan. 

That year the city fathers had decided to hold a holiday festival at the public school gymnasium.  It was probably the only material part of the season that a good portion of the community experienced.  The large crowd was overpowering to this small boy not use to anything beyond the congregation at church service.  Their voices seemed a constant roar as everyone seemed to be talking at once.  A school program was then presented, proud parents exchange gossip, and I became tired and sleepy.

Suddenly there was a breeze of expectation from the back of the room.  People began to laugh and call comments to each other, moving aside to create a narrow lane toward the stage.  Being about three and one half feet tall, I could see nothing but legs and a shiny gym floor.  Then he was next to us, sporting a large cotton beard and wearing that famous red suit trimmed with white fur.  The boots resembled our father’s go-to- milk-the-cow footwear: black rubber with traces of mud on the heel. 

Everyone seemed to know this ho, ho’ing giant of the season.  He stopped next to my brother, reached into his sack and pulled out an immense bag of ribbon candy.  Some remarks were made about good and bad before handing over the riches.  He then stepped back and turned to me.  More words were spoken in loud, hearty tones, but I failed to remember much beyond a wide eyed unease.  At that point he duplicated the gift gesture, gave a hearty laugh, and disappeared into the crowd.  I could only stand and stare at that large cellophane bag of candy in my hands.  What a treasure! 

Christmas Eve could not have been more than a couple of days away as we were busy making our wish list.  Father had cut our tree on a tall bluff in the red hills.  It was decorated with shiny strips of silver, funny shaped glass ornaments, a blue reflector on the top and two strings of beautiful lights.  The bulbs were shaped to resemble objects of our seasonal world.  My favorites were Santa Claus and Snowman. 

Thirty years later I was to find that same string of lights hanging in the window of a shoeshine parlor on Main Street in Baker City, Oregon.  I stepped into the shop and shared my story with the old fellow who ran the business.  When I finished, he smiled, reached over to unscrew a snowman from the light string and handed me a piece of my past.  It was impossible to express the depths of my gratitude.  He is dead now, but every Christmas that moment of companionship is renewed as I unwrap that beloved ornament.

I have difficulty in remembering the night before Christmas except for the intense excitement of something about to happen.  Sleep was difficult to come by as I drifted in and out of consciousness.  A dark silence had begun to creep about the house after our parents put the younger brother to bed and settled into their sleep.

A short/long while later I aroused to hear a strange noise above and on the roof of the house.  It was the sound of sleigh bells and the swish of metal runners.  Glorious, glorious, glorious!  I hugged the dark in my warm cocoon and believed.  Sleep comes easily to the innocent..

Blessings to you, Aldwyn.