Beloved tumbleweed
“That is so tacky,” I told my mom. It was the mid-1960s, and I was home at our Wyoming ranch from college. Mom had harvested a giant tumbleweed from the legions of tumbleweeds lining our barbed-wire fences in winter.
She added water to homemade lye and lard soap, beat it until it resembled whipped cream and stroked it onto the branches of the tumbleweed, creating a white, filigreed sphere upon which she hung our few colored glass balls and some strings of cranberries.
I saw the tumbleweed as a symbol of our relentless poverty – unable even to afford a real Christmas tree. Forty years later, I see that tumbleweed Christmas tree for what it was – a beautiful gift of love.
I recently apologized to Mom for my reaction. She is no longer able to remember the tree, or my lack of gratitude, but she smiled and said, “Thanks, honey. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
– Doris E. Sanders, Denver
A Christmas find
Only the shimmering tinsel rivaled the presents. Presents that consumed the living room floor, flowing outward like a giant wave. We weren’t rich, far from it! My mother worked two low-paying jobs. Christmas was her epiphany, and she never let us down.
Shortly before Thanksgiving 2002, my mother passed on. We all gathered at her house. As we sat glumly at the old dining room table, we felt far from festive. After a quiet dinner, we resumed cleaning out closets. While poking around in the upstairs, I noticed flattened boxes and layers of new tissue paper. Further examination uncovered sweaters, shirts and toys.
We raced back to the dining room table. Which present belonged to whom? We laughed. Mom had finished her shopping!
– Jude Black, Steamboat Springs
Transforming principles
The principles of Kwanzaa had such a profound affect on me that I actually formed an investment club based on these same principles! We called it U cubed, U to the third power, as it stood for Ujima, Ujama and Umoja which are important principles of Kwanzaa. This is one way we found to carry the spirit of the holidays with us all year long.”
– Elana Perry, Green Valley Ranch
“Gloria in Excelsis Deo”
Back when public schools featured Christmas songs in their concerts, I auditioned for the angel chorus of sixth-grade girls who would sing “Gloria, in Excelsis Deo.” When the teacher announced the names of the angels, mine wasn’t among them.
Later the music teacher sent word that she wanted to see me. My heart jumped. She must have realized the mistake she made by not choosing me. I smiled as I entered the room.
“Oh, good, Karen, there you are! I have something very important to ask you. Will you stand at the door and pass out programs at the concert?” I did my job and didn’t complain. My friends looked angelic in their white robes and silver halos, and in my head I sang along.
I sing that Christmas carol every year with my church choir, with always a thought for the angel chorus from so many years ago.
– Karen Waters, Colorado Springs
A holy night in WWII
It was Christmas Eve 1944, and the war was raging through Europe. We lived in a small town in southwestern Germany. During the bombings we took refuge in a bunker, a large U-shaped hallway deep inside one of the surrounding hills. It provided shelter for about 500 people. The air raids had increased steadily, and we had been in the bunker since the night before.
Late that evening one of the men walked home and returned with his violin and their decorated Christmas tree. All the children gathered around the tree. As the sound of the violin filled the air, everybody joined in singing carols. The the glowing candles glistened on the water drops seeping through the sandstone walls, and the bunker took on a festive look. There were no presents under the tree, but deep inside I felt I was part of a very special Christmas.
– Joan Theiss-Snawder, Greeley
Special table in N. Orleans
The date was Dec. 23, 2003, when I was directed to the surgical waiting room at the hospital in New Orleans. While my husband underwent surgery for carcinoid cancer, I visited with a young woman. After she left, I sat alone, realizing that it would be a strange Christmas, far away from home.
On Christmas morning, the young woman called to say that she would bring me food for my evening meal. Laurie Anne Parker met me at the front entrance with a large bag filled with lots of food. That evening, several tired family members gathered at a table, where we enjoyed a Christmas dinner. The evening ended with each person returning to sit by the bedside of a loved one, but not before the words “Merry Christmas” were exchanged.
This thoughtful woman, with small children, had driven an hour each way.
– Sherry Thomas, Buena Vista
A sled to remember
It was 1940 in a suburb of Cleveland. The snow that year was early and deep. By the week before Christmas I was dreaming of buying a new sled at the hardware store, $12.95, a large sum of money in 1940. Our grade school had a raffle, 10 tickets for $2, eight at $25 each, and if you bought eight, two were “free.”
My brother Ed, soon to be drafted, bought $2 worth. He won the sled, gave it to all of his six brothers, and that year we had some fun sledding. The sled is in my garage; it helps me remember Ed. He never returned from the war. He was killed in action in April 1945 fighting with the 442nd RCT, the Nisei American outfit with deep roots in Denver.
– David C. Nilges, Centennial
Cheetos & champagne
What started out as an emergency Christmas Eve meal has become one of our family’s most treasured traditions.
Our daughter, Lydia, age 7 months, had just arrived from Seoul, Korea, the week before Christmas. My husband, Pete, and I were so excited and happy to finally become parents.
Christmas Eve arrived. I had a miserable cold, and my husband was finishing a busy shift as a Denver police officer. Sitting in my bathrobe on the couch, I watched Lydia crawl around the floor playing with some toys. I wished for a nice dinner for my husband to come home to.
When Pete finally arrived home that evening, his arms were laden with packages. He brought a stuffed bear for Lydia, a bottle of perfume for me and best of all, dinner! We dined on deli sandwiches from Safeway, a bag of Cheetos and a bottle of champagne.
Now every Christmas Eve, we celebrate the memory of that first Christmas as a family by scarfing down deli sandwiches, Cheetos and champagne.
– Nora Finicle, Franktown
A holy circle
Inside our home, everyone has lit their Hanukkah menorahs, so now we hold hands and dance in circles, one circle inside another, as we sing “Moaz Tsur” (“Rock of Ages”). Mama can’t dance this year, so we bring her a chair to sit on in the center of our circles of my husband Al and me, our children and their spouses, and grandchildren. She looked so honored. That was 20 years ago. Most of the families have moved out of state and have their own circles. Now Al and I look into each other’s eyes and sing to each other, happy and thankful that we can.
– Betty E. Freedman, Denver
Sad trees made beautiful
It was 1963, I was just 12 years old, and my Dad, always one to wait until late Christmas Eve to get the tree ready, found to his dismay that when he did go to get one, the selection of trees was, to say the least, limited. So, instead of bringing home a sad, spindly tree, Daddy brought home two sad, spindly trees.
The rest is now family history. He stripped the branches from one tree, and by wiring them to the other, created a beautiful, full pine that would have made anyone on the block envious. It was decorated with lights, glass balls, and the now-ancient lead tinsel, not hung a careful strand at a time, but thrown in bunches at the tree, just the way Daddy liked.
It was the most beautiful tree we ever had, and somehow, no Christmas tree since has ever matched its magic.
– Eileen Ramsey, Centennial
From ’82 blizzard, a son
My holiday memory involves me and my ex and Dec. 24, 1982. We lived in a condo at Interstates 225 and 25. It was snowing, and the weather was really bad. We needed to get to Greeley for Christmas. My mom assured me it wasn’t snowing in Greeley, so we headed out at about 9 a.m. It was very bad in Denver. The car was sliding, and we could not see from all the snow. We stopped at the Capri Motel (which has since burned down) at I-25 and 80th Avenue about 11 a.m. We were one of the lucky ones to get a room.
As luck would have it, we had parked at the Village Inn across the street (as the parking lot and all the parked cars were buried under several feet of snow). We made it to Greeley the next morning via I-25, which looked like a war zone of abandoned cars.
The infamous blizzard of ’82. The best part: Our son Brandon was born nine months later, Sept. 25, 1983.
– Lori Shields, Conifer
Special-delivery dinner
Mom and I have been celebrating Christmas together for more than 15 years. We celebrate Mom’s Czech heritage with a traditional Christmas dinner of pork roast, dumplings, sauerkraut with lots of caraway, and baked apple. We both live for this meal!
Mom is certain that the only place good meat can be found is in the Chicago area, so she buys the pork roast at the local small grocers and brings it with her to Denver. Sometimes she brings it on the plane in her little blue canvas bag.
I call it her carrion luggage. I always appreciate the gesture of her bringing only the best to create our favorite meal to share.
– Jan Lahlum, Wheatridge
The shepherd & the sheepdog
It was Christmas Eve 1994 at Bethany Lutheran Church, where I served as business administrator. Our pastor and staff were prepared for a glorious, five-service celebration.
As the final service began, I walked through the glass doors for a breath of air. I approached a lonely woman walking a large English sheepdog. I greeted the stranger but was concerned with her sadness.
With tear-filled eyes she explained that she offered to watch her neighbor’s dog, Charlie, as a means of “getting out of the house to give my husband space.” Their son had died two weeks ago of AIDS, and Christmas Eve was almost too much to handle.
I petted Charlie and suggested she step inside. I offered to watch Charlie, and she seemed ready to accept but remained concerned for Charlie’s welfare. I assured her that he would be safe.
Charlie and I had a great time. A clip held a portion of his massive forelock out of his gentle, loving eyes.
When the woman returned, tears streamed down her face. “He said some things that will help me make through the night. Thank you, and merry Christmas.”
We hugged, and I wished her merry Christmas. Charlie licked my beard a final time. She took Charlie and disappeared into the hazy glow.
A miracle had just happened.
– Jerry Regan, Aurora
Streetcars and cinnamon
When I was young everything seemed to move at a much slower pace. The “Advents Zeit,” the four weeks before Christmas Eve, were very special. Each Sunday evening the family would sit by candlelight and sing Christmas songs. No one rushed to see their favorite TV program, because we did not have a television.
Streets in those days were very quiet. Only very few people owned a car right after the war. The only noise we heard was the rattling and ding, ding, ding of the streetcar, which passed by our house. The weeks before Christmas were filled with excitement. Homemade cookies and cakes were so much better than the store-bought kind. It was fun to watch Mother and Grandmother fashion the most delicious baked goods from plain dough.
The smells of Christmas were everywhere. The aroma of hot chocolate or spiced wine filled the air on special occasions. The living room was filled with freshly cut evergreens. They seemed to bring the winter woods right indoors.
– Ingrid Boettcher, Aurora
The littlest angel
It was Christmas Eve, the year was 1937, and I was 11. My dad woke me from a sound sleep to tell me he was taking Mama to the hospital to get a new baby. I could not believe my ears because I had not been told anything about another baby. I was indignant that they would leave me to care for my siblings ages 9, 5 and 2. I was scared and angry and thought: “Just what we need, another baby.” We hardly had enough to care for the four we had.
Well, when daylight came I heard my father come in singing a Christmas song, and he sounded so happy. It was then that he told us we have a new little brother with red hair and green eyes. I shouted: “When can I see him?”
I have loved him every day since.
– Jean Klein, Commerce City
Editor’s note: Stories were edited for space.
