One time, not at Christmas, I was there when we were packing up things to send away to the soldiers–chewing gum,cigarettes, socks,underwear, chocolate bars, that sort of thing, for Uncle Preston, Uncle Earl, Uncle Booth, and Uncle Tom. All came home except Uncle Booth who remains forever in my memory and in various family photos hanging on the wall of Mom’s home a handsome 27- year-old lieutenant of artillery.

One hot summer day 2-3 years ago Mom and I visited the old home site in Bazette. There is still standing a farm building that Uncle Booth built–and sound and well-built it still is. Mom and I walked from the old homestead north past the farm lake all the way to the old school, following the same path that Mom, Aunt Lorene, and Aunt Paulene took to go to school every day. Mom’s memories were freshened, and she relived for me the incidents of the walks–including hanging the girls’ long leggings on the fence until they could retrieve them on the way back home after school. This must have been some time during the late 1920’s or early 1930’s.

I don’t understand why it has to be on all the time in my father’s home. It was a huge relief that he discontinued his Christmas gather and instead joined my mother’s Christmas Eve gathering to be with us. It was SO much nicer than having endless repeats of The Christmas Story or, as last year, the Titanic (how is this even related? it was AWFUL.)

And he was amazed at how we ‘do’ Christmas’ - everyone opens their gifts one at a time, everyone talking and laughing, the little one(s) helping to distribute the presents between opening their own gifts…

Merry and Bright, we are, and it’s LOVELY.