Oh No, It's Over! . . . .

I have always loved Christmas. Growing up in Panaca, my Christmases were steeped in love and tradition. I remember my first Christmas as a wife. I worked so hard to replicate a Panaca Christmas. I decorated our little apartment and tree as near to what mother used to do as was possible with what we had. I went to the mailbox each day in anticipation of receiving my Christmas box from her filled with traditional goodies; suet pudding, fruit cake, pine nuts, and homemade candy. There was always something special she had made; a crocheted doily, embroidered dresser or table covering with a crocheted border, an afghan, or a set of kitchen towels.

I remember the first time my sailor husband had duty on Christmas day. It was incredibly sad for me. I was without family on Christmas day for the first time in my life. When we had children, I continued the traditions of my childhood. Several times when they were small, we were able to take them home for an old fashioned Panaca Christmas. I loved to decorate the "perfect tree" I had decorations for a blue tree with beautiful white spun glass lights and blue ornaments, a red tree with red ornaments and red poinsettia lights, a traditional tree with old fashioned ornaments and multi-colored lights, and always hundreds of icicles. I spent hours hunting for the perfect present for the special people in my life, both family and friends. Santa's gifts to my children had to be special. With all of this, we always remembered what the true meaning of Christmas was. We kept our Savior, Jesus Christ, in our lives and the lives of our children. The most important part of our Christmas celebration was our traditional trip to beautiful Balboa Park in San Diego to view the large Nativity scene that was always there.

So, when and why, when I loved it so much, did I begin to suffer from "after Christmas depression"? Perhaps, it was because I did love it so much and after all of the preparation, could not let it go. All I know, is that it would hit me Christmas night and it was unbearable. It became a joke with my husband and later with my children.

The day after Christmas in 1978, I forced myself to go to work at George's shop. I was supposed to be working, checking in a huge load of carpet and pad, but instead found myself struggling through my Christmas "let down" ( I hate the word depression) by writing the following poem:

TWAS THE NIGHT AFTER CHRISTMAS or IT'S ALL OVER BUT THE MESS

or IS THIS WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT?

Twas the night after Christmas and all through the house,

was heard the unhappy mutterings of George's sweet spouse.

The stockings were scattered about with great flair,

twas obvious that St. Nicholas had recently been there.

The family was nestled all snug in their beds,

while visions of Christmas still danced through their heads;

And Craig with his dog and George with his book,

had just settled down after one last long look.

When down in the living room there arose such a clatter,

George sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.

Away down the hall he flew like a flash,

tore open the door, as he heard a loud crash;

As what to his wondering eyes should appear,

but a frightening sight of one he held dear.

He quick looked around, then jumped in the air,

as she aimed a swift kick at the big easy chair!

More rapid than eagles, her laments, they came.

She ranted and shouted and called them by name.

"I licked! I stamped! I cleaned and shopped!"

I baked! I wrapped! I scoured and mopped!"

"To the line at the post office! To the dirt on the wall!

Now dash away, dash away, to the El Cajon Mall!"

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,

when they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky.

So, up on the table top poor George flew,

dodging boxes and pillows and his Ina Mae, too!

And then in a twinkling, she came on the run,

he jumped and he ducked, but she still wasn't done;

As he drew in his head and was turning around,

down the top of the table, she came on the bound.

She was trimmed up with ribbons from her head to her toe,

and on top of her head perched a gleaming red bow!

A bag full of trash, she had flung on her back,

and she looked like a peddler just opening her pack.

Her eyes how they glittered! Her dimples weren't merry!

Her cheeks were like roses, her nose like a cherry!

Her droll little mouth was drawn up in a sneer,

and the look on her face struck his heart with cold fear!

The end of a candy cane she held in her teeth,

and tinsel encircled her head like a wreath.

She was waving her arms and kicking her feet,

and her body, it shook to some primitive beat!

She was stomping and kicking like a mean little elf,

and he laughed when he saw her, in spite of himself.

But, the glint in her eyes and the tilt of her head,

soon gave him to know he had plenty to dread.

So, he spoke not a word; but went straight to his wife,

gave her a hug as he said, "My dear, that's just life."

And laying his arm round her shoulders, he said,

"It'll look better tomorrow, Come, let's go to bed."

He gave her a kiss, to himself, loosed a sigh,

as her eyes filled with tears to begin a good cry.

"Having our children home made it a wonderful day,

remembering Jesus, watching Justin at play."

Then, you could hear her exclaim as he turned out the light,

"It was a Merry Christmas for all. I love you! Good Night!"

Now, 30 years later, Christmas 2008 is over. Thanks to Steve and Rhonda and the rest of our wonderful family, it was a beautiful day. I did have a few pangs last night, but I think I am finally getting a handle on my Christmas day "let down". After all, now I just go along for the ride enjoying all of the beauty of Christmas with little effort on my part. I just enjoy! And, thanks to Clement Clarke Moore who wrote the beloved poem, "Twas The Night Before Christmas" so many years ago. I have used it as the format for my poem.

Christmas Memories . . . .

I wish these pictures were better. They are 63 years old and color film was not the best then. I posted them to show the large area of frozen pasture we were skating on. It is a very small portion of the frozen pastures that were our arena. This one is the first pasture on the right side as you are leaving Panaca traveling toward the Y.

These are the beautiful skating outfits mom made for Delores and I that I wrote about in my Christmas Memories. The other girls pictured are our twin cousins, Joyce and Janice Mathews. They received their figure skates and red and white outfits that Christmas, also. They were our favorite skating partners.

One of my earliest vivid memories of Christmas was the year David, Delores and I actually saw Santa Claus in our home. I don't know for sure how old we were, but from my memories of where we were sleeping, I think David would have been six, me four, and Delores two. We were living in the "Castle". The downstairs bedroom was mom and dad's and the three of us were sleeping in the little half room connected to it. We came home from the Christmas Eve program at the church, hung our stockings and snuggled into our beds. The Christmas tree was in the dining room. You could see it from our little room. We lay there too excited to go to sleep, watching the bubble lights that I loved so much, bubbling merrily away. I don't know if we ever went to sleep, but sometime later David came to my bed and told me Santa Claus was out there. Sure enough, we could see his shadow as he was placing gifts under the tree. David had asked for a red wagon and we watched with bated breath as Santa pulled a wagon, we were sure was red, over to the tree. We could see something in the wagon. He took it out and sat it under the tree and I was positive it was the doll I had asked for. Then he sat a big, colorful spinning top under the tree and made it spin around and around. We watched him fill our stockings that were hanging on the mantel and then he left. When we got up in the morning, there under the tree was David's red wagon, my doll, and the big spinning top that Delores had wanted. Even today, when people say there is no Santa Claus, I tell them there "Certainly is. I know because I actually saw him."

Christmas was special when I was growing up. It was full of traditions; making Gingerbread Houses, decorating sugar cookies, mother making candy, pine nuts, suet pudding, tarts, and her famous fruit cake.

The Christmas Eve program at the church was very special. We always hoped for snow. It was so beautiful to walk through softly falling snow to the church. The presentation of the Nativity was always special and very often I had a part in it. The singing of our traditional Christmas carol, "See The Camels Coming From Afar" by my cousins Bruce and Rulon Wadsworth, always followed the Nativity. I can still feel the excitement and the anticipation that built with unbearable sweetness as we sang "Up On The Housetops" and then as we sang "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town", Santa would burst through the door and we could hear sleigh bells ringing. As he brushed the snow from his beard, we would form a line for our turn to sit on his lap and tell him what we wanted for Christmas. I can still hear his jolly "Ho, Ho, Ho" as he handed us our bag of candy. Then, we would walk home through the snow and find the longest stocking we had to hang on the fireplace mantel. We would leave cookies and milk for Santa and go to bed. We would snuggle in our beds with the warm stove lid wrapped in cloth to keep us warm and watch the lighted angel on the top of the tree and the bubble lights as they softly glowed and merrily bubbled. We would be up way before it was light and the first thing we would do is look out the window to see if our lights were the first on the street to go on. We thought it was hilarious if they were. Then, we would run in to see what Santa had left for us. There was always an apple or an orange in the toe of the stocking, some nuts and candy; always a crystal candy Santa, reindeer, Christmas tree or angel, in red, green, or gold. Because we hung one of the long stockings we wore in Panaca's cold winter (and this was the only time we were happy about having to wear them), there was room left in the top for something special that mom always managed to find for us. It was a traditions for us to receive a book each Christmas. Usually one of the classic children's literature; Little Women, Little Men, Freckles, The Girl Of The Limberlost, The Call Of The Wild, A Tale Of Two Cities, and as Delores and I got older, a Nancy Drew Mystery.

We always received the one present of our dreams; the special doll was always there. When I got older, I remember my first pair of gold hoop earrings. There came the time when I began to know that mom and dad were paying for these things and I was amazed and touched that our Christmas could be so perfect when there was a large family and very little money. I realized that it was made possible by a mother who made dolls, doll clothes, stuffed animals, and designed and sewed the most beautiful clothes for us.

A favorite tradition that followed the opening of our gifts was a Christmas Concert by our dad. We would bring him his harmonica and he would play for us Christmas songs and several hymns and then he would end with a rousing and foot tapping rendition of "The Irish Washerwoman". He could really play that harmonica! Sometimes, Leo played along with him on the Jew's Harp. After that, we would don our jackets, gloves and hats, and those who played musical instruments would take the lead as we formed our Wadsworth Family Marching Band. We would meet Uncle Frank's family in front of our house, march the block to Uncle Lafe's home where they would join us, and then the several blocks to Uncle Earl's home (Aunt Dora), to be joined by their family. From there, we would make a circle around town, singing and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. It was great fun and a tradition that continued until World WarII when so many of our family members went to fight in the war.

Ice Skating was a favorite winter activity for the children and young adults of Panaca. It had been for as long as the town had been there. We had the perfect skating arena. The pastures on the west side of town would all freeze over. We used to laugh and say we could skate the entire 15 miles from Panaca to Caliente without ever having to leave the ice except to cross the highway several times. The biggest challenge was having to occasionally climb over a pasture fence, often with barbed wire on top. Crack the whip was a favorite sport we played while skating. We would build a bonfire on the ice in the center of a particular large frozen expanse. We would skate around and around and one by one, grab hold of the hand of the last person in line, making a long line, or "Whip". The oldest and biggest boys were always at the head of the line. The trick was to avoid being the last two or three at the end of the whip. It could get very wicked as the long line was cracked back and forth and the last two or three on the whip would be sent flying. I remember a couple of broken arms and a broken clavicle, a few chipped teeth and cuts and bruises. Our parents always told us, "No crack the whip", but we couldn't resist the excitement and didn't want to be labeled "chicken". Looking back today, I am amazed that nothing more serious happened.

We wore the ice skates that clamped onto your shoes. They were usually black. When I was 14, my dream was to have a pair of white figure skates, the boots with a toe pick on the end of the blade. I didn't think it could be possible as David and Delores also wanted them. Still, that Christmas I told mom that if I could just have a pair of those skates, I didn't need one other thing, not even candy. In faith, that night when I went to bed, I didn't hang my stocking. Christmas morning, I saw that my stocking hung on the mantel with the others and on top of the traditional candy and nuts, was a beautiful pair of white angora gloves, warm red stockings, and a red, blue, and yellow scarf. I was in heaven when I opened my gift and found a beautiful pair of white figure skates. It was perfect, I was ready to go skating! Then, Mom handed Delores and I each a beautifully wrapped box. I could not believe what was in it! Mom had made ice skating outfits for us. She had chosen a plush, brushed velour corduroy material. There was a short circular skirt with matching "panties" to wear under it, in red, and a fitted, long sleeved military styled jacket in a deep, almost navy, blue. They fit to perfection! We could hardly wait to go skating that day. Many of our friends were there with the new skates they had received for Christmas, but none of them had such beautiful skating outfits sewn so lovingly by their mother. It was a wondrous Christmas and I felt loved and very blessed.

Christmas 1956 . . . .

In 1956, we were living in Garden Grove, California. Paul had celebrated his second birthdy in August. Our beautiful dog, Duffer, a Border Collie-Shepherd mix, was four. He was Paul's best friend. George's mother was living with us.

I was pregnant and had a due date of December 23rd. Thinking there was a chance I would deliver early, I had been frantically doing my Christmas shopping. As if that wasn't enough, George's brother Jack had stopped by after a fishing trip with a huge tuna he had caught. The smell of the fish turned by stomach but I felt I needed to do something with it and so I had spent the whole day canning. When I finished, I decided I needed to clean my stove and oven. By the time George got home, I was feeling terrible and ended up rushing to the hospital. Thank goodness, Mom was there to be with Paul. We were so happy when the baby was born and Dr. Bartel told us it was a little girl and she was just fine. For being almost a month early, she wasn't as tiny as we had feared. She weighed just over 6 lbs, but by the time we left the hospital, she had lost several ounces. I was happy to be home and have our baby before Christmas.

Paul had told Santa he wanted cowboy stuff for Christmas because he was "a real cowboy". He also said he "needed" trucks and a train. He and George picked out the tree and brought it home. Paul was so excited to decorate it. I had always had a fetish about putting icicles on my tree. I used hundreds and hundreds of them and they had to be just right, starting from the trunk out to the tip of each branch. Needles to say, Paul did not put them on that way, but he was having such a good time I didn't have the heart to say anything. I waited until he finally went to bed and then I redid them.

Very early the next morning, we were awakened by a loud crash. We ran into the living room just as Duffer disappeared behind the couch. Paul was sitting in the middle of the floor with the tree tipped over and almost on top of him. There were some ornaments in a pile in the recliner and broken ones all over the floor. It seems he and Duffer had been redecorating the tree. Paul looked at us with a big grin and said, "Duffer did it. Bad dog!" But then, explaining it to us as only a two year old can, he said he wanted to see the angel on the top of the tree and so he was climbing up to it. It took us a while to get Duffer to come out from behind the couch. He finally came out with his tail between his legs, covered with pieces of broken ornaments, icicles, and pine needles. Poor dog, I think he actually thought he tipped the tree over.

I'm sure I remained calm?? We had to purchase some new ornaments and for the third time, I painstakingly placed the icicles on the tree.

It was a wonderful Christmas, though. Rhonda was a beautiful baby and we were so delighted with her. Paul loved his "cowboy stuff"; notice his hat, boots, and guitar. He also loved his train and trucks. Duffer was out of "the doghouse", and little Rhonda Loie was just loving the fuss we were all making over her.