Posts Tagged ‘#santa’
Got Talking About . . .
. . . holidays over lunch t’other day
and one old-timer said they dreaded Christmas.
I had to ask if that was because
Santa gave them Claustrophobia.
When Santa Walks Backwards . . .
. . .does he sound like
he’s saying “Oh, oh, oh?”
Christmastime a Long Time Ago
By Tom Morrow
Another Christmas has arrived, and that takes me back more than eight decades of my life.
I recall the anticipated booty that never came but appeared in my dreamscape during the 1940s and early ‘50s. What toy-land wonders we didn’t know about weren’t missed. Comparatively speaking, post-war toys were, at best, primitive. Plastic was hard to get after World War II and metal of any kind was expensive. Toys were, shall we say, “fragile.”
The biggest problem when fighting off Indians and robbers trying to win the American West was with six-shooters. Many toys, especially pistols, were made of compressed sawdust. When told by an opponent to lay our pistols down on the ground, we did so ever so gently lest they break apart. On more than one occasion Mom came to the rescue, but got the barrel glued back a bit crooked. A few times she glued the barrel upside down.
The only gift Santa might bring that would be close to today’s Christmas morning booty was Tinker Toys, the Legos of that time. Gift ideas for Santa were limited because there was no television or Internet. Hints for him, as well as Mom and Dad, were found primarily in store windows or in the annual Sears, Wards, or Spiegel catalogs.
Those items of joy neatly on display in store windows had price tags. The price of $3.95 seemed to be the most popular number.
Being “good” was always part of the bargain and having lots of presents under the tree measured the amount of joy you expressed. In lean years, Mom would increase the gift count by wrapping socks separately to make the day seem more abundant than it really was.
For every boy, electric trains were high on the list for most-coveted items. While Lionel train sets were the most popular, no self-respecting “Junior” railroad man would be satisfied with anything but an American Flyer. Lionel train sets were powered by centered electric track … three in total. American Flyers mimicked the real thing with just two rails.
Flyers were authentic-looking in every respect. Mom didn’t understand such things. Dad did, but had trouble with a more expensive price tag. A Lionel set was around $14.95. An American Flyer commanded $19.95 and higher. Dad never made more than $2,500 a year then so such extravagances were out of the question.
But the Holy Grail on nearly every boy’s wish list was a Red Ryder air rifle. But Mom always said what nearly every mom did: “No! You’ll shoot your eye out.”
Gifting Mom and Dad was quite a challenge. Weekly allowances didn’t go very far. I got 50 cents a week and my sister got a quarter. If you had any money for Mom, there was always “Evening in Paris” perfume – for 50 cents, or a week’s “wages.” When my sister was helping Mom close up her house several years ago, a number of “Paris” bottles were discovered stashed away in keep-sake manner.
As for Dad, we somehow managed to buy him a necktie because Mom usually helped by giving us a dollar or three. This was for a man who had just one tie that he wore only for weddings and funerals.
One year our parents had some huge household expenditures so Mom told Dad not to worry about getting her a gift for Christmas. (You can see this one coming). Dad took Mom at her word while Mom presented him Dad with a couple of gifts. It was a very brittle Christmas morning.. From that year forward, my sister and I made sure Dad always had something for Mom under the tree.
Memories? You bet! Now enjoy the New Year!
The Day Santa Died
‘Twas the day before Christmas.
We got to the butcher and picked up our gallantine for Christmas Eve and lasagna for Christmas dinner. Gallantine is a tradition here in Panicale. A chicken is de-boned and stuffed with everything from prosciutto to pistachios and hard-boiled eggs to eggplant, then pressed and cooked, sliced and eaten cold. Got chores done while we were out – cash from the bank ATM, started the car, and checked out our last-minute grocery list — as a humid sirocco-like wind swooped in and made this central Italian town almost summery. Brother Lou dropped by for a grappa and headed home for a shower. Landlord Riccardo stopped by about midday and said he’d skip tonight because he won’t be able to find a parking space because of midnight Mass at the church.
Then he told us. “Bobbie died,” he said
Bobbie Sonnenberg was ambushed by a deadly heart attack on his early-morning walk with his dog. He had been looking forward to playing Santa: “A true Santa Claus from the North,” he told me several days earlier. He was proud of the fact that he was the first non-native offered the role. He even let his beard grow to match his thick head of white hair. He had been a technical-magazine editor in Sweden before chucking it and moving to Panicale, where he augmented whatever pension and other funds he had by managing rental properties, organizing travel tours, and dabbling in real estate.
I skidded down to the piazza to scout out the facts. Lou was right behind me. We ran into Simone’s wife (Aldo’s daughter-in-law who owns and works with her husband at the osteria they opened in the apartment Bev and I rented on our first trip) and she told us “Babbo Natale e morta.” (Father Christmas is dead.) I asked if they found an alternate. She nodded her head: “Qualqu’ uno” (somebody).
I asked if her osteria’s Christmas Eve dinner (30 euros per person) was full. She shook her head “no,” and explained they didn’t start planning/advertising early enough. I said they’ll start earlier next year. She nodded “si.”
Then she added that Santa was due to land in the piazza at 3:30 p.m. We returned to the apartment and sipped a few until it was time to check the piazza. It was still warm and humid but it started to drizzle on the couple of dozen kids and their parents scattered around the 550-year-old fountain. So they trooped into a below-street-level club room across the alley from the osteria. Guillermo said the club room was made available after it started to rain. Santa and his jingling bells were greeted about 4:20 by applauding parents and wide-eyed youngsters. Everyone got something. Even the adults — each received a little package of candy that was handed out by the children.
But no one seemed to miss Bobbie.
(A few days later, a hearse squeezed up through the steep archway and a clutch of mourners followed the casket into the church for Mass. When the service ended and the remains rolled back into the vehicle, no one followed but everyone applauded Bobbie’s passing as the long car slipped down into the piazza and out the Umberto 1 gate.)
Mature Life Features 