Christmas Passed and Past

On Christmas Eve after viewing the beautiful lights and Nativity on Temple Square, we drove around looking for interestingly decorated houses. The one below was truly unbelievable. Since it is on Salt Lake's 18th Avenue, high in the foothills, I'm assuming it can be seen from outer space!  Decorated with hundreds of Santa, candy canes, icicles, wreaths and reindeer, there was not a spot without lights except the driveway. Where do they keep everything come January 1st?  How do they pay their electric bill in January?

Christmas morning passed quietly at our house. With no small children (i.e. grandkids), it was a mellow day. No need to arise early to tear open Christmas presents.  A chilly walk in the snow up Porter's Fork in Millcreek Canyon was just the ticket to celebrate the birthday of our Savior. 

What could be more beautiful on Christmas morning?

Our husky-reindeer dog loved frolicking in the snow

It was a nostalgic day, spent remembering Christmases past. Especially since Bill's sister sent us a huge box of goodies made from their mom's recipes. Gingerbread cookies, rich chocolate fudge, white-chocolate popcorn, and Bill's favorite "Nuts and Bolts" (Chex cereals, peanuts and pretzel sticks, baked with just the right touch of Worcestershire sauce).  He was in seventh heaven.

The Solomon Slaughter family long ago, circa 1954

The above photo was taken when my husband, Bill, was about two-years-old.  (He's much younger than I am.) Their house at the time was in Tacoma, Washington before Sgt. Slaughter was transferred to Japan.  It is an unanswered mystery why both Sol and Evelyn have bandages on their foreheads.  Bill thinks they were joking for the photo. I think they bumped heads under the mistletoe.  Bill's sisters received dolls, of course, afterall it was the '50s. Bill got a firetruck and punching clown, typical boys' things.  He has always hated clowns.  I guess this was the start of the phobia.

Bill and Judy with Santa, probably 1956

Bill grew up enjoying Christmases around the globe. He was born in Panama where his career army father was stationed and Santa arrived in an army helicopter.  In Japan, Bill remembers Santa coming to the base in a jeep.  His Christmases were much different from mine, all of which were spent in Holladay, Utah, most of them with snow.

Sheri and JoAnn with the ZCMI Santa, probably 1952

My sister and I had our pictures taken with Santa every year from the time I was three, which means my sister was six.  This went on until at twelve my sister refused.  We always sat on Santa's knee at the downtown ZCMI after the Santa Claus parade.  I knew he was the REAL Santa because he was the same one who rode on the sleigh in the parade.  Years later, when we compared all our Santa photos, we realized it was the same man who dressed up each year and sat in the booth decorated like the North Pole at ZCMI.  Yes, Virginia there is a Santa Claus!

Hope you all had a very Merry Christmas



Who'll take the son?

Picasso ~~ Rose Period

Please take the time to read this; it will make your day!

The ending will surprise you.

A very wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.

When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.

About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.

He said, 'Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.' The young man held out this package. 'I know this isn't much.. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.'

The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man.. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. 'Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift.'

The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.

On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. 'We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?'

There was silence.

Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, 'We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.'

But the auctioneer persisted. 'Will somebody bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?'

Another voice yelled angrily. . . 'We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Gogh's, the Rembrandts. Get on with the Real Bids!'
But still the auctioneer continued. 'The son! The son! Who'll take the son?'

Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. 'I'll give $10 for the painting..' Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.

'We have $10, who will bid $20?

'Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters.'

The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.

The auctioneer pounded the gavel. 'Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!'

A man sitting on the second row shouted, 'Finally! Now let's get on with the collection!'

The auctioneer laid down his gavel. 'I'm sorry, the auction is over.'
'What about the famous paintings?' everyone in the audience shouted.

'I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including all the paintings.

The man who took the painting of the son gets everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: 'The son, the son, who'll take the son?

Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.

For God so loved the world,

he gave his only begottern Son

That whosoever believeth in him,

Shall have Eternal Life.

Christmas Wishes

Our Humble, Old-Fashion Christmas Tree 2008

Christmas Village 2008

Mantle and Hearth 2008

I used to ask Santa for little boy toys. One year, I really wanted Lincoln Logs and he brought me a doll. Another year I asked for a B-B gun. Thankfully, Santa refused to comply. I got another doll. Then there was the chemistry set I never received. Erector Set? No. Again a doll was under the tree.

Santa wanted me to be a girl. I wanted to be a boy. It wasn't PC in the '50s to give girls toys meant for boys, or to give boys toys meant for girls. Toys in those days were gender specific.

When we became parents, we did not discriminate and allowed our kids to play with toys for either gender. By the 1970s, many toys were unisex anyway.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that I liked giving better than receiving. I don't even remember most of the gifts I've received. My favorite gifts were the ones I made myself and gave with love.

My Favorite Part of Christmas ~ Happy Children

Early opening ~ Hansen family ~ Alaina, Angie, Brooks, Dan

Our Lil' Lainy-bug deep in concentrated play

Here is my Christmas WISH list:

• Peace ~ for the soldiers
• Food ~ for the hungry
• Shelter ~ for the homeless
• Light ~ for those in darkness
• Clothes ~ for the cold
• Hope ~ for those in dispair
• Love ~ for the lonely
• Health ~ for the sick
• Forgiveness ~ for the sinner

Santa can't bring these things.

They can only be given by Angels.

Each of us is an earthly angel,

with the ability to reach out

to help those in need.

Merry Christmas to All

Good Tidings in the New Year!

The Year Without a Santa Claus

At the age of eight, I was still desperately trying to believe in Santa Clause. I was the baby of the family and my parents and older siblings were playing along with the deception just for me. "Let her believe for one more year," they all whispered behind my back.

Hadn't Santa Claus come down our chimney the previous year, leaving footprints around our Christmas tree. Then there was the racket on the roof which sounded just like reindeer, bells and all. Christmas morning we went outside to see sleigh tracks and reindeer prints on our snowy roof.

Of course there was a Santa Claus. Who else would bring me everything I wanted but also things I wanted but didn't even ask for!

There was talk at school. Some of the kids scoffed at those of us who believed in Santa. But they seemed to be the same kids who made fun of me for believing in Jesus and the Holy Ghost.

Every year we had our Christmas Eve traditions, singing and eating treats around the Christmas tree. Dad and Gail had great singing voices. Then we'd open up the one present which we knew was pajamas. The best part was listening to Daddy read the Christmas story from Matthew. He reminded us that this story was about the true meaning of Christmas and that we gave gifts to eachother because Jesus gave the greatest of all gifts to us.

I was impatient that Christmas evening in 1957. My oldest sister and my only brother were both out on dates. Mom, Jo and I had watched a special on TV, got the cookie plate ready for Santa, and waited for my father to come in from the garage.

We had long known the garage was where my Daddy hide presents. But this particular year, he was taking an extra long time out there. What could he be doing?

Then the back door opened, but it wasn't Dad. It was Steve returning from his date. He yelled down the stairwell in an alarmed voice, "Mom, come quickly. It's Dad. Bring towels and blankets! And keep the kids inside."

Jo and I clung together crying loudly while everything around us went out of focus. There was the shrill wailing of the sirens, the flashing red light atop the ambulance. Neighbors running in and out of our house. We peeked out the window to see firemen in the driveway pushing a gurney into the garage. Jo and I knew it was serious, but what had happened to our Daddy.

"Maybe he was using his saw and sawed off his hand!" I gulped between tears. It was the worst thing I could think of. Our kind neighbor from across the street came to sit with us. She explained how my father was climbing a ladder to retrieve presents from the garage attic. The ladder had slipped and he fell onto the concrete. He'd hurt his head and was unconscious, so the ambulance was taking him to the hospital where he might have to stay for awhile. Christmas would never be the same from that moment forward.

Mrs. Erickson spoke to us in a calm voice in gentle childlike terms. Jo and I were less agitated, but still fearful. "Will he die?" we asked. "Let's pray to Heavenly Father to watch over him," she whispered.

It seemed like we prayed amd cried half the night. There would be no opening our present of new pajamas, no singing or reading from the Bible. Finally, exhausted and out of tears, we fell asleep.

At the hospital, the doctors discovered my father had a massive skull fracture and a severe concussion. He had nearly bleed and frozen to death in the garage until my brother found him. Fortunately, Steve decided to go home early from his date. My father would remain in a coma for several months. He had no memory of the catastrophe.

Somehow my oldest sister Gail got word of Dad's accident and she rushed to the hospital to be with Mom and Steve. She wanted to know what she could do to help. My mother told her to go home to be with Sheri and Jo. Let them open presents on Christmas morning. Try to have a "normal" Christmas.

Gail (age 20) returned home after we had fallen asleep. She got a roll of paper towels and proceeded to write a "Letter from Santa Claus" about why Santa had to miss Christmas at our house that year. The letter filled the entire roll of towels. We all wept loudly as she read it to us on Christmas morning. It was then I knew for certain. Santa was my father and he was very, very ill. Neighbors brought us dinner, but we wouldn't see Mom for several days.

Thomas S. Monson was a neighbor in our ward. He was also a good friend to the Eardley family. He would later become Apostle Monson and is now the Prophet and President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When he heard of my fathers accident, he went promptly to the hospital and gave Dad a blessing. He promised him that he would recover and lead a full life.

Daddy eventually recovered and returned to work, but it took a long time and a lot of medication. He was Grand Mal seizures from time to time after the accident, but finally the doctors were able to get his medicine right to control the seizures. Mom had to return to work to help support the family. Life went on. Dad died from colon cancer in 1985 at the age of seventy-eight.

We tried to have "normal" Christmases from then on, but there was always a cloud which hung over the day, I least for me. However, Light and Joy always return when I think of Christ and the real meaning of Christmas and I'm sure I'll see my Father again someday.

Christmas is supposed to be a joyous, happy occasion. Most of the time it is for me. For many people, however, it is a lonely time--a reminder of loves lost, broken dreams, broken hearts. Try to remember these people at this time of year and spread joy and hope.

Sometimes my heart isn't in Christmas like it should be. But I hope I will be forgiven. I will forever be reminded of my year without my Santa Claus. It ushered in the end of my childhood.

Winter Sky at Sunset

Happy Christmas Memory

Our stockings were hung by the chimney with care. The tree was decorated, the cookies were baked and we were ready for a tranquil Christmas evening visit with friends. Our kids were grown so the hustle-bustle of Christmases when the children were young was in the past.

The house was aglow with tiny lights on the tree, the mantle and the wreaths. The world was white, cold and icy outside. Suddenly the power went out and all was dark.

But no worries. We just lit all our Christmas candles--candles on the mantle, the tables and kitchen counter--candles in our windows.

Our friends drove up our dark street and were heartened to see the candles in our windows. They arrived at the door with a big pot of hot soup and fresh rolls and were astonished to see how beautiful our house looked in the flickering candle-light.

We sat, ate, reminisced and laughed without electricity for over an hour. It was peaceful and joyful, just as Christmas should be. I forgot about the dirty carpet and the worn furniture. Everything looked shiny and new. We all looked younger and happier in the candle-light.

Then the power came on and we were all disappointed! So we turned the lights off again and continued our revelry.

It was one of the best Christmas Eves ever. Try it.

(P.S. Don't miss my post on London Museums which I wrote on December 1, but didn't post until today. Scroll down, it is before Observations and Impressions.)