The older I get, the more fortunate I feel that I was born in a small town in Montana. I think about how nice it was to have had a few fleeting years to experience a place that was, in my opinion, so Norman Rockwell. My father's career as a Marine took us away though and now I dream about the day that I can return to this place and live out my life.
Christmas time in small town America, and especially in the 1950s and 1960s was a special time. Everything bustled -- the shops, the churches, mom's kitchen, the schools -- it was all so magical. My little town, Anaconda had a Commons located in the center that was frozen over for ice skating with a giant Christmas tree in the middle. Kids pulled sleds and sometimes cardboard behind them as they walked to the "perfect" spot to sail down a snow covered hill. Yards were decked out with snowmen and snow angels and there was great anticipation for the "big day".
One particular Christmas, during my second grade year, my mom, brother and I were living in Anaconda while my father was stationed in Okinawa. Mom drove a yellow Buick and I can remember trying to help her clean the snow off the car so we could drive to the market. It was no easy task but it had to be done. She would start the car and it seemed forever until we could finally move as it took some time to warm it up. Then we would chug along the icy streets at a turtle's speed, but we didn't have far to go. If the conditions were good we would drive to Buttrey's about a mile or so from our house, but on most occasions we stopped at one of the little neighborhood markets that Anaconda was known for. These family owned and operated "little" stores, as we called them, were sprinkled throughout the town and I loved them. They were havens for penny candy!
My favorite was my Uncle Bill's "little" store because he always gave my brother and I a few pieces of the treasured penny candy. On one particular visit, Uncle Bill was holding a raffle in which you had to write down a girl's name that had a Christmas ring to it. The winner would be presented with a 16" Santa that was displayed next to the entry box.
I can remember so wanting to take that Santa home. In "those days" you have to remember that we didn't have the decorations that are available today. Trees were literally decorated with a lot of homemade ornaments, mostly ones that the kids made in school along with a few glass balls and ten cent boxes of silver tinsel. I watched my mom as she wrote down a name on a piece of paper, folded it and dropped it into the entry box. As much as I pleaded with her, she would not reveal what she wrote. I just crossed my fingers that it sounded enough like Christmas that Uncle Bill would like it.
As it turned out, Uncle Bill did like the name and he declared my mom the winner with her entry of Mary Noel! Santa came home with us! Every year thereafter, Santa was displayed on top of the television set, signaling the start of the holiday festivities. His presence always triggered the annual telling of the story about Uncle Bill and the Christmas raffle. My mom and I would talk about Uncle Bill's Christmas contest and laugh because my mom would jokingly tell me, "I am sure the fact that I was his sister-in-law had nothing to do with me winning." I would remind her that Mary Noel was actually a good entry and we would laugh some more.
Mom and Uncle Bill have both passed and the Anaconda Santa is now on display in my home. As I unwrapped him this year, it was the first time I noticed that he has aged. His beard is turning dark, his boots are yellowing and his little velvet suit is fraying, but his rosy, cheery porcelain face is still intact. He is nearing the half century mark and despite his condition, he still holds the most treasured memories of Christmas for me.
As I held the Santa in my hands and recounted the story of how he became a part of our family, I was struck with the thought that my parents with their small town roots didn't just make holidays special for their health. They made them special because they loved their family. Nothing seems the same since they are gone, but I know they would not want me or my brothers to feel that way. They would want us to carry on the traditions and the spirit they created for us. I miss them terribly and that's okay, it's natural to feel that way. What's important is that they taught us the good side of life. They kept us close to family through their passing down of stories and creating memories, and of course, their small town roots!
Comments