The first two pages of this story have been lost. The story that follows begins on page three.
I certainly couldn’t produce anything remotely similar on our two burners in our 'shared kitchenette.' But the other event of that morning that I remember was opening a package that was from my beloved and had been under the tree for several days. I had squeezed it, shaken it, and been tempted to peek, but it was wrapped so securely that I just couldn’t. The great moment came! I shrieked and wept while my husband hooted! It was a skull that he had borrowed from the anatomy lab! By the light of the tree it looked particularly bothersome to me than morning. It wasn’t as though I wasn’t used to these things, as he was always bringing home various bones to study, and had taken me past the anatomy lab on several occasions while I bravely looked out of the corners of my eyes, never having been closer to anatomy than my old cat in the formaldehyde in Zoology 101 and 102 which we studied on from muscles in September to brain and nervous system in June, because a “cat is more nearly like a human than any other animal.” This was a girls’ college, and I often pondered on what the professor really meant.
Edith and Robert off to work!
1606 Jefferson Street, Houston, Texas (1946)
Our marriage survived that Christmas and so did our tiny bank account, because the relatives had duplicated wedding presents we received that Christmas. I know for sure we unwrapped ten aluminum trays, and I still have in my possession the other four we kept. Aluminum seemed to be one of the few metals available in 1945; certainly, it was a good substitute for silver which was still hard to come by. This was our first Christmas, three months old in the midst of Bob’s internship.
Robert sharing Christmas moment with Jan and Peggy. (1953)
Note: Some pages are missing. Hence, the story jumps forward to Christmas in the 1950's.
Needless to say, every gift on the tree was for that precious baby. Each year our trees grew a little larger, a little taller and a little heavier with the accumulation of ornaments, as if to keep up with the growing family. How proudly Peggy once brought home a yarn ball formed over a balloon with glue, dried, and with balloon deflated, a lovely ornament, somewhat lopsided, but more precious because of its odd shape.
There are ornaments purchased overseas, still some tinsel and icicles carefully saved, a habit formed when these things were unavailable in stores abroad.
Our servants in South Africa loved our trees and would often turn on the lights and just stare in awe. They were also happy in that there was always something special for them there, too, as well as their anticipation of a gift of roast chicken (a delicacy there) and their own table set with our china and silver and a pretty cloth, a custom we adopted from our South African friends.
One problem there was keeping the tree green, for it was a summer Christmas. Our servants thought we were quite odd when we mixed soap flakes and dabbled it on the windows to simulate snow. It was something which they simply did not fathom. But we found we could capture the spirit of Christmas when we did that, if we kept the Christmas album on the record player spinning, too. The red glass beads, a bit battered but a precious reminder of a little Christmas beagle.
Back in Baltimore for another year of study, my husband accompanied the younger children downtown to visit Santa, whom they now called Father Christmas. We learned that day all they wanted for Christmas was a puppy, as their three South African pets, two dogs and a cat had been left behind with friends. Finally, their father brought home a lively beagle puppy who promptly attacked the Christmas tree with delight, gulping untold numbers of red glass beads and part of a parcheesi set. These were eventually deposited on the snow outside in our fenced in yard, but not showing up until the spring thaw.
What gayety had been reflected in the balls, not only in the light of anticipation, but from being with friends and family. Nostalgia comes at Christmas, too, friend remembered, but never to be seen again, family members only to live in our hearts forever.
