Happy Birthday, Topher!

One wintery day in December,

Just a day before Christmas Eve,

Got a call at my desk in the office,

“We’re having a baby”, said he!”

A race down the freeway to get there,

Might as well have taken my time,

Hours passed by before baby,

Decided to join us—and in the meantime,

Clear skies, though cold, became stormy,

Inside, we were waiting, unaware,

Of the fluffy white flakes that were falling,

The suspense, almost too great to bear.

It’s true that a baby was coming,

None too soon, was, I expect the mother’s view,

First-time grandparents in the making,

How to do that? We hadn’t a clue!

A long night finally became morning,

He’d arrived sometime before midnight,

Snuggled down in a red Christmas stocking,

Ten fingers and toes, a pure delight.

That first sight of the beautiful landscape,

All white and buried in drifted snow,

Raised questions… how we would ever,

Get home. With 4-wheeler help, still touch and go.

Such a beautiful, fresh, new spirit,

Though he cried all that first night at home,

How lucky was I, as his grandma,

Moments to rock, sing lullaby poems.

Two decades have passed, plus four more years,

His talents and interests are many,

Loves reading and writing-that may top his list,

Of fav-rites.  Adventures? He’s had plenty!

From Christopher William South he became,

“Topher” right from the beginning.

Everyone knows him as such--it fits him,

He can add, “College Grad”, in the spring!

Super heroes? He has his favorites,

If all things were Pixar, that would suite him,

A swimmer, a biker, lifetime fitness his passion,

A debater, a talker who knows his English “im”s (synonym, pseudonym, antonym and so on)!

A self-taught musician--thanks Internet!

Birthday wishes 12-23-12,

Starting his century quarter year marker,

 Saying Happy Birthday, my singing I’ll shelve.

Birthday Cheesecake

‘Tis some days before,

‘Bout 4, as I’m counting,

December birthday,

For Topher, “YEAH”! (shouting).

A cheesecake’s a must!

Can’t break from tradition!

I’m sure I’ve got stuff…

To make this addition.

Crust stirs up quickly,

“Press gently in the pan.”

“Stir these for filling”,

So the next step began.

Wait! What happened here?

“Now, who ate the cream cheese”?

Fridge mouse discovered?

Two tall, dark and handsomes! Geeze!

Sour cream on fridge shelf?

You’ve got to be kidding!

Just leftover yams…?

And whatever’s growing!

Off to Scolaris…

I did fly in a flash,

No open shutters,

Or throwing up of sash.

Record quick shopping,

Cheesecake finally baking.

Birthday tradition,

Mem-o-ries a-making!

Wednesday, December 19, 2012—Christie South

To Be a Child at Christmas

When I was a child, to help pass the time until Christmas, Mother played a game with me. Each day of December, she put something in my stocking--the red one, handmade with white bias binding around the edge and my name embroidered in white script lettering on the cuff at the top--made for my first Christmas by a family friend, Mae Tingey, mother of our bishop, Maurice Tingey, grandmother of Kent Tingey, my childhood playmate. Mae lived next door on what was once Grandpa Morgan's farm, in the home that had belonged to my father's brother, Edgar. I will hang that same stocking again this year, just for sentiment, but as a child, it was such fun to see what was there for me to find. Mother used the letters of the alphabet, all 26, within the 24 days of waiting. I had to learn to spell whatever it was that I found in the stocking before I could have it.

Daddy put hay on the front porch, for the reindeer to eat, of course! Sometime during the Eve, I'd hear sleigh bells, my imagination would take over and I was sure that I'd heard the sound of hooves, too!

Mother spent time cleaning my dolls and washing their clothes, cleaning Teddy bears and giving them a fresh bow of ribbon in time for the holiday. On Christmas Eve, she'd line them all up on the couch for me, a part of the night's ritual. Mother had decorated the tree earlier but as the final touch, I got to hang my red bells on the tree--three deep ruby-red plastic bells, two small and one larger with an actual jingle bell inside.

Todd was less than a year old for his first Christmas. He took the balls off the tree as fast as I could hang them. I found him one day with broken particles of an ornament in his hands and in his mouth. I frantically called my doctor, asking what I should do in such an emergency. He paused, then advised, "I wouldn't worry about it too much. You can buy those ornaments anywhere downtown, two for a quarter."

One way to avoid a family feud when I die is to take the two, wooden German crafted tree ornaments with movable parts with me. I bought the pirate for Todd, the wooden soldier for Jenn. She took a liking to the pirate and quietly slipped it away long enough to write her name on it in black marker. It was hard to scold a 3-year old who could write her own name. The backwards "J" only made it more adorable.

One year, there was a special delivery, in the final hours before the Eve. My first grandchild was born! He came to his Grandma-ma's dressed in a Christmas stocking, on the day of Christmas Eve. Was it that I had not put up a tree or decorations or planned a festive meal? I don't know, but he sure was upset about something. That baby cried all night! Near morning, with a dry diaper, and an extra feeding while his tired parents got some rest, I rocked him, quietly singing in his little ear, "I Am A Child of God," and he settled right down. It was a sweet moment for a new Grandma-ma, holding a newborn who still smelled of heaven, on Christmas morn.

It Happened In December...

When my kids were young, Christmas Eve was sometimes spent with the South grandparents on Commonwealth Avenue. Grandma South fixed knedliky and zeli. This Czech dish consisted of three parts--the dumpling, the zeli (cabbage), and roast pork. She made a light dough into which was folded small, toasted bread cubes. Her instructions were to fold, by hand, rather than beating or kneading the dough. As her hands became more crippled with arthritis, she'd hand the wooden spoon to my kids to assist her. When the dough was ready, it was formed into large loaf-like dumplings and slipped into salted, boiling water to steam until cooked through. It was often sliced with a piece of heavy kitchen string so as not to crush the dough.The zeli was made from finely shredded cabbage and sauerkraut. She was partial to the lighter, softer, sweeter inner cabbage leaves. Grandma had a favorite brand of kraut, one that she found less sour than others that she rinsed to remove even more of the briny bite, then mixed it with the fresh cabbage, finely chopped onions, caraway seeds, and drippings from the pork roast. The zeli was better if it simmered slowly for an extended time. She often cooked a second piece of meat in order to have enough au jus for serving.

When I had my first December taste of this traditional meal, Grandpa South took great delight in instructing me how to arrange the components of the dish on my plate. First, in the center, a slice of warm knedliky. Next, a nice slice of pork. Next, the zeli was to be artfully piled on top of the meat. The meat juice--au jus--was drizzled over the stack. Grandpa would demonstrate from his own plate at the table, slicing deftly through all the layers so as to provide one's mouth with the very best of all the components, a real taste sensation! While my kids were young, they knew they could count on this meal at least once a year, at their grandparents or at our own table. On our own, without coaching, we may have lost some of the authenticity of the dish by using a food processor for cabbage chopping or electric beaters for dough mixing and serving the dish with homemade applesauce. But more than the dish itself, we loved the memories associated with this meal--Grandma's instructions, Grandpa's giggled laugh (like Frank's) as he taught us the finer points of enjoying this family tradition.

Grandma and Grandpa South drove from Salt Lake City to visit us during our first December in our new home in Sparks, Nevada (1976). The Truckee Meadows was enveloped in a record drought and warming trend. Frank, the kids, and I treated them to a picnic on the shores of Lake Tahoe. We needed nothing more than a light sweater against the light breeze coming off the water. They shared their plans for the summer--a trip to Prague and Vienna. Grandpa would retire within a short time. They planned to spend an extended time abroad, gathering genealogy information and documents, pictures, and seeing old friends. They were filled with anticipation and excitement. No one knew it then, but this was a trip that William T. would not live to make.

It was 1979, and just a couple of days before Christmas. My kids were struggling to adjust to our family drama when "I do" became "I don't". There were fits of anger and insecurity. Fears and physical ills surfaced. We were grieving the death of the family we never really were but very much wanted to be. Browsing the BIG Nickel want ads, ever on the search for more part time work or something more permanent, an ad caught my eye: "FREE puppies"! So on a dark and stormy night, I drove...and drove...to somewhere north of Reno city limits. When I ran out of road, I saw it. One lonely, little trailer out in the middle of nowhere, with a porch light still on. I sloshed my way through water and mud and road ruts to get to the make-shift couple of steps and the only door. I knocked. In the movies, this is where the music leads the viewer to lean forward a bit or hold back a breath or two, or clutch someones arm, or hide their eyes. The door swung open. A tall dude with lots of facial hair and long locks--romance novel type but scary lookin' and rough around the edges--filled the open space as bright light from a bare light bulb spilled out into the star and moon-less outer darkness. I stepped inside, ... and was greeted by a compact ball of new puppy fluff. "He's the last one I got. I breed and sell papered Golden's but my neighbor's @#$% dog got to his mama and I had to give the whole litter away!" That ride home, just before Christmas, was filled with puppy love. He had a name before we made it to our driveway. "Digit"! A bit of heart mending had begun.

One Christmas Eve, I was fixing food--turkey rolls--for the next day's meal. I had two big trays ready to be baked when I noticed that Morgan's breathing had become labored. She'd had a couple of asthma-like episodes; This seemed like another. That meant a trip to the ER for a breathing treatment. My kitchen was hot, too hot to leave food sitting out. Well, it was December. And it was cold...outside! I had to move quickly so after wrapping and sealing the trays in foil and plastic, I set them on my front porch, covered each with a big box and laid a heavy cinder block from the patio on top, before heading to the hospital. Returning hours later, with a blanket-wrapped recovering and sleepy child, the front entry was a sight to behold! There definitely would be NO turkey rolls for that Christmas dinner!

Ready for Christmas?

Thoughts written in December, 1986

'Tis five days before Christmas and all through the house,
There is hustle and bustle, I hope there's no mouse!
Just Digit, the dog and sweet Carmel, the cat,
Todd, Jenn and their mom, at home where it's at.

This is the beginning, traditions of the season,
Learning just what is Christmas, a celebration with reason.
I've listened to many these past weeks and days.
I've heard some frustration, I've seen many ways...

People try to buy Christmas, They search and they moan,
They don't find the joy, now that they're all grown.
For some, it's the gifts, and for others, grand parties,
For others, special music and events that are "art-y".

Still everyone searches and asks, "Are you ready?"
"Ready for Christmas? Hang in there, now steady!"
I've learned many lessons this year as I've watched,
You can learn about people if you listen, not just talk.

I'm afraid they miss much of the joy in these days,
And miss chances to serve and help others in small ways.
For the many who are doing, they rush and the fret,
They are just very sure all their goals are not met.

I treasure the moments of magic, which have come
Into my life this Christmas; I want to savor each  one.
I have felt like the shepherds who visited the Child,
I, too, had no gifts, just love, a heart tender, mild.

There were many this year on my '86 gift list,
And I felt some great stress when I thought they'd be missed.
This Santa's cash flow was having a crisis,
But, with help, new thoughts came to make this year the nicest.

My gifts have been small but my thoughts are of great size,
For so many people who've been kind and so wise.
I've learned through the thinking, more about the true meaning
Of the season called Christmas, of night's stars brightly gleaming.

One lit up the sky in the story retold,
The true spirit of Christmas lights hearts, young and old.
I want to remember these feelings I've found,
And share them with others now and year 'round.

I want to remember the hugs and the smiles,
Of those we sang carols for*...my mind lingers awhile...
On the faces of friends and the kindnesses shown,
And my own image reflected tells me how much I've grown.

With the help of these friends, some new and some old,
And now comes another Christmas for each one to mold.
The choice is for each to make as he chooses,
If one makes little effort, it is that one who loses.

*Only 25 Shopping Days
---------

Christmas 1995-A Late Report

Written April 1995, a fun look back at Christmas with four of my grandkids...via a belated thank you note:

'Tis months after Christmas,

A new year has begun.

Many thanks to dear friends,

For food, for toys, and fun.

Topher reminds Morgan,

"The building set is mine!"

So she looks for her dolly,

Zach drops it just in time.

Jessie got a baby,

Kid was hungry from the start.

With Sears lifetime voltage,

Doll's sucking by the quart.

When Zach talked to Santa,

Just before Christmas Eve,

He made sure to tell him,

"A  BIG  truck for me, please."

Our friends--Santa's helpers,

Brought the truck Zach asked for,

Jessica has claimed it!

Rides--she, dollies and more.

Morgan loves her dolly,

With outfits toe to head,

Jessie dropped her baby,

Pulled 'til she got doll's leg!

Poor, poor Morgan's dolly,

She's disadvantaged, blue,

Jessie's got her right leg,

But Morgan has her shoes!

Wayne brought Toph a football,

Kids played, 10--15--hike,

Pass wide, Jess intercepts,

Nerf sandwich, three BIG bites!

Foam was her appetizer,

We loved Black Forest ham!

And dined on Lucky Charms,

Bread, peanut butter, jam!

Etiquette rules I've broken,

"Thank you" is way past due.

You made our season brighter,

South hugs to all of you.

'Tis the Season...When Everything Rhymes

Written December 1996 during a bout of "rhyming". This affliction seemed to hit me acutely at Christmastime, then after the holiday, I could speak "normal" again.

It's the first day of December,

And all through our house

Are the beginnings of Christmas

Even a garage with a mouse.

It is now Sunday eve.

It's a nice place to start

This season of Christ's birth

And opening wider all hearts.

We've had three Santa helpers

Here to see us already,

With a tree, trimmings, treats,

Tree's up and holding steady.

I whipped up some "magic" snow

Like my mother used to do.

These kids were delighted, 

Places un-"snowed" now are few.

Topher read from the scriptures.

We lighted a candle,

Sang some Christmas sing-a-longs

And hung stockings from the mantle.

This is just enough excitement

To hyper up this bunch.

Now if I don't get dinner going,

I'll be in a real time crunch.

About the "magic" snow...when I was a child, Mother always "snowed" our Christmas tree. The first step in the process was, of course, to get a tree up in the house, always in the same spot in our small living room--the corner between the front door and a side door, no longer being used as an entry. Mother's winter drapes had a dark red large leaf and flower pattern so the room was already dressed in Christmas colors. My dad would bring in the tree 'planted' in a silver bucket. The two of them would discuss the best angle of the tree to have facing into the room. Dad always seemed to find at least a couple of branches not to his liking so he'd cut them off where they grew, drill (with a hand apparatus) a hole in the tree's trunk where he thought he could improve on God's creation, and wire the branch in place. When he was satisfied with his handiwork, the ball was back in Mother's court. She used an old time soap product, Lux Flakes. This was mixed in a bucket with just the right amount of water so when whipped, by hand or with an egg beater--you know, the non-electric thing-a-ma-jig with two moving parts that turn and whirl as the user cranks a handle attached on the side--you got a like-whipped-cream result.

Let the messy fun begin! Starting at the top of the tree, Mother would scoop up a mound, as much as she could, then grasping a branch close to the trunk, she'd pull her hand out to the tip of the branch, depositing that whipped soap as she went. She did this with each branch. While it was still damp, back up on a chair or ladder she'd go and sprinkle from the top, what she called 'Santa Snow'--flakes of something iridescent or translucent that would catch the light to give the entire tree the appearance, that 'twinkling', of having just been dusted in a recent snowfall. It really was "magical"!

Dad may have put lights on the tree, those really big ones but what I remember more is Mother standing for hours, or so it seemed, placing real foil icicles, one by one by one over the entire tree, icicles carefully put away after each use and saved to use again from year to year. She often strung popcorn as trim. If she had saved bits of foil wrappers from candy or whatever, she rolled those into a tight ball and strung them, too. She had a few treasured real ornaments but mostly, she created her own illusion of a beautiful tree. Her "snowed" tree made a lasting impression and has become a part of the tradition and memory that is a part of me.

The Christmas Dress

It was getting late. My grandmother, Edna, was still busy with her sewing and pressed to finish orders from her customers. Grandma Whitney was a talented seamstress, much of her fine pin tucking, pleats, and trims sewn by hand.

Mother finished her evening chores and helped her sisters put the youngest children to bed. She took one last look at the beautiful, plaid taffeta-type material that lay still folded and untouched, by Grandmother's sewing table. Mother wanted a new dress so much, to wear to the party that would be held the next afternoon on Christmas Day in the town hall. There would be dancing and lots of good food and games for everyone. But it was almost midnight. The dress had not been made. Feeling great disappointment, she finally followed the others and went to bed.

There was great excitement among all the Whitney children the next morning.  It was Christmas! While each was enjoying simple gifts and toys, Mother, remembering the folded piece of cloth she had seen on her way to bed just a few hours before, went to take one last, longing look.  She could hardly believe her eyes! There, spread over a new wooden rocker and with a new pair of shiny, black shoes, was a most beautiful dress...her dress! Grandmother Edna sewed all through the night and pinned what could not be sewn in time. Mother, dressed in her beautiful, red Christmas plaid dress, danced at the party though her new patent shoes never touched the floor!

Mother use to tell me this story as the holidays drew near each season. She loved the memory; She loved retelling and reliving it.

Popcorn Balls and Christmas Sweets

When my mother was a little girl, her father brought home a special treat for his big brood of kids, and hid it in a shed beyond the house. Mother and some of her siblings discovered the stash. Whether together or one by one in the days leading up to Christmas, little hands slipped into that big, wooden barrel to take just one piece of sweet, crunchy peanut brittle, sure that it wouldn't be missed. Of course you know the rest of the story... When Grandpa Whitney went to the shed to retrieve his treasure to surprise his kids with candy for Christmas, he found an empty barrel.

Evelyn, my sister-in-law, started early in December making mouthwatering divinity, fudge, penuche, and the best red and green popcorn balls. She stored these make-ahead goodies in air-tight tins in the coolest spot, her bedroom closet. As a kid, I'm sure I must have sampled more than popcorn, once I had discovered the stash of heavenly goodness, but it is the popcorn balls I remember most. These were sweets unlike anything my mother made. Surely just one wouldn't be missed. Then one more... I don't know how many I had eaten before Evelyn discovered the snitch in her closet!

My youngest grandson, Max, is perfecting and perpetuating this family trait during a week of gingerbread decorating where more kinds of candy than he ever imagined fill the kitchen table in clear cups. No matter where the Cadbury Chocolate snowballs land on the table as these cute, little cottages are completed, Max quietly reaches from behind me to capture one or a couple in his small, 5-year-old hand.

In the days before Christmas, I remember my dad coming in from the cold outside, sitting in his big, grey, overstuffed chair and taking the nut bowl into his lap. He enjoyed every kind in the mix as he put the cracker and picks to use, separating nutmeats from shells. He seemed to love the fondant filled chocolate drops and chocolate covered coconut candy I remember having only at Christmastime. Mother's favorites were gumdrops and hard tack candies though I don't think she ever met a sweet candy she didn't like! I thought of them both looking through a Vermont Country Store catalog recently. The candies I hadn't seen on store shelves in a long time were right there on those pages.

Growing up with siblings to share Christmas with is not part of my memory. I'd like to hear more from each of them about the memories they have of those early years of Eve's and Morning's, when our parents were young and raising a family.