Monthly Archives: December 2011

Beans for Christmas Dinner?

Welcome to the final installment of the series of Christmas stories from my mother in law.  Merry Christmas!

Beans for Christmas Dinner

When I was a little girl, I lived with three sisters and three brothers.  My mom and dad gave us a childhood filled with memories; mostly of fishing and hunting and going camping.

We had a fruit farm with three big vegetable gardens.  It also included a a cow, two horses, a pig and some chickens.  It was my job one summer to heard a bunch of ducks.  I took it seriously, and would gather the eggs for my mom to make custard.  Most of the family liked it, but I wasn’t one of them.

We were all expected to do our part to keep the farm running.  In the 50′s that was a way of life to grow our own food and then harvest and preserve it.  Fall would come and Dad would always get us a deer and quite often an elk.  I watched he and Mother cut it up on the old kitchen table. Then I would wrap the pieces up in white butcher paper and mark them.  I remember once I got bored and wrote funny sayings on the wrapper and scribbled pictures.  Dad was not pleased.

My brothers did the chores and we girls helped mom with the cleaning and cooking.  School started before all the canning was through, but we were still able to pick the fruit, wash bottles and help put them in the basement.  Sometimes my aunts would come over and help.  We always looked forward to those days.  Even now as I am much older, the smell of a ripe apple sends me back to that memory.

Times were hard financially, especially during the winter months.  But we always had a warm house, plenty to eat and pretty new clothes that my mom had sewn.  Life was good.

But Christmas, that was spectacular!  We wouldn’t get a tree until a week or so before.  Dad would hang one of our stocking, one right from our drawer, on the the wall with a nail close to the tree!  Mom would always get us kids riled up with her rendition of “The Night before Christmas” and how ol’ Santa would look at each name on the list and take a minute to decide if we had been good enough and then pick a present for us to put under the tree.  We were spellbound.  As we listened, she then would make a progressive jingling sound. “Jingle, jingle, jingle!”  At that point, we would hurry off to bed to try and get some sleep.

I still don’t know how he managed, but Dad would somehow get Santa to bring us all kinds of wonderful toys and specialty foods to eat.  The stockings were filled to the brim and always with an orange in the toe.  When we got up the next morning, it looked like Santa had just dumped his whole bag right down in the middle of the room.  Or sometimes the stuff had been put into little piles and we always knew just which one was ours.  There wasn’t a bunch of happier kids anywhere.

Now that brings me to tell you about the title of this story!

This one Christmas, when I was about 10, seemed different.  Oh we were pleased with what we got, but there were only a few toys and our stockings were only about half full.  Of coarse we didn’t any of us say anything; we didn’t want to seem ungrateful.  We were happy with the orange in the toe of our stocking; but we did question, if only in our minds, when the smell of turkey was replaced with a big pot of beans. That’s right, beans!  Naturally they tasted real good, especially with Mom’s homemade bread and butter with a spread of her peach jam on top.  It was just different than the Christmases we’d had before.

Years later, when I was an adult, I ran into a friend of mine at the mall.  It was Christmastime again.  We got to reminiscing about our childhood and the Christmases we’d spent together.

“I remember one year” she said, ” that your Dad really saved our Christmas.”  She went on, “I was one of the older kids and my mom told me in confidence earlier that afternoon that there wouldn’t be any Christmas that year.  Dad had been out of work and she had been sick.  Imagine my surprise, when we woke up the next morning to a fantasy land of presents and a big turkey for dinner.  Mama never did say anything, but I knew it was your dad who’d left it there after his visit earlier that evening.”

Of coarse I never said anything either.  I was just so proud of my dad and his generosity.  It was a story that took on a whole new meaning and made my memory of those beans taste a whole lot sweeter.

Cathern Davis Roberts

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The Gold Locket

Here’s the second story in this week’s series from my mother in law.

The Gold Locket

When Mom and Dad were young  and raising us seven children, they had a group of friends in the neighborhood they would get  together with frequently.

My favorite, I lovingly called Uncle Lamar.  He had a daughter my same age named Virginia Lee.  The said you could not tell us apart, especially from the back.  Our mothers would fashion little finger curls in the back of our little blonde heads.

When we were about 18 months old, Virginia Lee died of pneumonia.  Everyone was heartbroken, especially Uncle Lamar.  But, somehow it seemed that my resemblance to her, helped ease the loneliness.  Watching me grow up, we became very close.

When I was just about eight years old, my uncle gave me a hug, and told me what a big girl I was; then whispered in my ear, “On your eighth birthday, I am going to give you a gold locket!  Now let’s keep this our secret.”  Well, I did and I thought about it some, when I turned eight and then again when I turned nine.  But nothing was said about the locket until I was nearing twelve.  Once again when our families were together, I got another hug from my uncle, and once again he noticed how grown up I was becoming.  He whispered in my ear, “Cathie, you are getting so pretty, and you are almost a young lady now.  When you turn sixteen, I am going to give you a gold locket.”  Well I was not going to count on it, but he had sincerity in his voice.  I figured that there was hope because a girl younger than that probably wouldn’t have appreciated it as much.

Nothing more was said until just before my marriage, and of course my very much loved uncle promised me another gold locket for my wedding day.  I remember thanking him and never saying or hoping about it anymore.

Years later, as I stood by his hospital bed, as he was nearing the end of his mortal existence, he gave me what was to be my final hug.  “Cathie” he said, “you have always been such a pretty girl and now you are such a good mother.”  Then he asked, “Do you remember the gold locket I gave you when you were a little girl?”

“Remember it” I replied, “I still have it; I will always wear it close to my heart.”

Cathern Davis Roberts

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A Christmas Story

We love reading Christmas stories in December, we try to read one a night as a family.  And several of us read more on our own.  I have three stories I love from my mother in law; she is an amazing storyteller. She has given me permission to share them with you!  I hope you enjoy the stories as much as our family does each year.

A Christmas Story

It was one of the coldest winters I could remember and the Christmas season was fast coming to a close.  We’ promised the kids a trip to Salt Lake City to see all the lights on Temple Square.  So, we piled into the van, all 12 of us to take the long 150 mile trek through the snowy canyons from Emery  County.

When we arrived, the place was packed in spite of the cold.  We found a place to park a few blocks away and proceeded to don coats, hats, gloves, scarves and anything that would help keep us from freezing.  Four year old Glenn, the youngest and last to get our could only find one glove.  I finally said, “Put this one on and hold Mommy’s hand with the other, it will keep you warm.”  We then hurried to catch up with the rest of the family.  The lights were spectacular; the crisp air seemed to heighten the effect.  We really enjoyed it and were glad we had made the effort even though we had rushed through it.

As we were leaving the big north gates of the grounds, I was taken back by the sad sight of a homeless person sitting there on the cold cement sidewalk.  It really bothered me, but not quite as much as it did my little boy.  He said, “Momma stop!  We need to give him some money or something.”  I told him I was sorry but  that I’d left my purse in the van and was hurrying to get him out of the cold.  He suddenly dropped my firm grip and went running back.  He took his one glove and gave it to the man.  With a smile, he exclaimed, “If you put it on one hand and hold the other one, it will keep you warm!”

I cried as I had learned a great lesson that night, my little boy had followed the example of the Savior.  He took compassion and gave all he had.

Cathern Davis Roberts

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Home for Christmas

One morning last week had been especially challenging.  Things weren’t going the way I had planned and the kids were whining about all their hopes and dreams being crushed.  I lost my cool and we were all crying on the way to school.  Sounds like the start of a great day, huh?  I pulled it together and talked with the kiddos about how whining and ingratitude were pushing my buttons that morning.  I asked for their help and understanding and we all agreed to be more considerate.

On the way home, the song “I’ll be home for Christmas” played.  I sure wasn’t feeling Christmas at that moment, yet I longed to escape to another time or place “if only in my dreams”.  I have some good childhood Christmas memories, and even more as an adult that I enjoy visiting every year, especially on the hard days.  There are a several from awesome gifts and acts of service received.  There are many more memories of giving and the joy that comes from seeing the faces of those I love light up.

Despite the rough days and getting bogged down by our busy lives, I’m happy to say I will be home for Christmas and not in my dreams.  I’m grateful to be surrounded with the those who are central in my life.

Where do you go in your dreams, when you want to be home for Christmas?

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