Remembers




		WRITE 2 THE HEART Stories that are aimed "Write 2 the Heart" December 26, 2001 Volume 1, Issue 50 Cheryl Speir, Editor, moderator@write2theheart.com -------------------------------------------------------- By subscription only! Welcome to your next issue of "WRITE 2 THE HEART" You are receiving this FREE newsletter because you requested a subscription or a friend generously forwarded their copy to you. ----------------------------------------------------- First time submitter, Maria, paints a beautiful word picture of her past Christmas' growing up in Canada. ------------------------------------------------------ What My Heart Remembers By: Maria Harden ------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------- While strolling past a holiday display of greenery and shiny baubles, a whiff of pungent pine boughs instantly transported me back to a time when life was simpler and demands were fewer. Growing up lacking in worldly goods, but rich in family, was the best upbringing four children could have in the 1960's, when the winter winds blew a chilling numbness into our very bones. Home was a small, secluded mining town located in northwestern Ontario. Our family was not exactly poor, but luxuries were few and far between. In the innocence of youth, how could we miss what we did not know? We always had a roof over our heads and enough to eat. Our parents provided us with a caring and stable childhood, and encouraged us to be the best we could be. Living where we did, we struggled through some bitterly cold winters. The tract house we called home, was very small and poorly insulated, so Dad would pile snow up against the outside of the house for added insulation. An oil heater stood in a corner between the kitchen and living room, where its heat emanated and confronted winter's chill. Two tiny bedrooms held five people: Mom and Dad slept in one; my sister and I slept in the other. My brother had a foldaway cot that was kept in a closet and taken out every night. This meant that no one could stay up very late since the living room was also his bedroom. I always thought he was lucky, since he had the warmest room in the house. Often it was so cold in our bedrooms that our bedding froze to the wall. There were many nights when I went to bed wearing a sweater on top of my pajamas, and socks to keep my feet warm. Winter was no deterrent to our imaginations. We thought nothing of spending hours playing outdoors, sledding on big pieces of cardboard down the riverbank to the solidly frozen river, or ice skating in the backyard rink. We built elaborate snow forts with pine boughs for a makeshift floor. School was about a mile away, and we walked, wearing layers of clothing for warmth. Off we waddled, looking for the entire world like chubby little penguins, cocooned in colorful hand-knit, Scandinavian-patterned scarves, hats, and mittens. Christmas was celebrated a little differently, since we were immigrants from Finland with our own customs. We didn't have the tradition of hanging up Christmas stockings, and the Santa Claus myth was only believed in when we were very young. We were the envy of our friends, as our custom was to open our presents on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas morning. What pleasure we took in phoning them later to gloat about our gifts, knowing they did not get to open theirs until the morning! The first feverish preparations of Christmas had begun when the box of recycled Christmas wrap was brought out of storage. Every piece had been carefully folded and saved to reuse for future Christmases, as were the ribbons and bows. We even kept all our Christmas cards and cut them into gift tags, wasting nothing. Money was scarce, so we had to make do with what we had. Our parents always gave us a few dollars to spend on each other. The house soon became full of secret whisperings and rustlings, as we deliberated at great length over what to get our siblings and parents. Our own wish lists were simple, since we knew and accepted at a very young age that extravagant gifts were not to be expected. We poured through the pages of the department stores' Christmas catalogues, and although we dreamed the sugar plum dreams, we were always content with whatever we were given. Our tree was always an evergreen that Dad had cut down in the bush somewhere, and we all took part in decorating it. Rather than buying ornaments, we made our own. Every year we declared the tree the most beautiful one ever. Sometimes we all packed into our old Studebaker and headed to a neighboring town where many Finnish immigrants lived, and attended a Christmas party. There was plenty of food and entertainment, with the highlight being a visit from Santa himself. Once, someone there was making a reel-to-reel tape of personal Christmas greetings, which was then to be sent to a radio station in Finland, to be broadcast at a later date. Everyone was invited to record their greetings, so Dad sent one on our behalf, but we never knew if any of our relatives heard it. We liked to think they did. Christmas Eve supper was a gala event, with the traditional turkey and many special once-a-year treats. Mom baked a sweet coffee bread decorated with candied cherries and slivered almonds to make it festive. Pails of special cookies, rich with the scent of spices, had been made and stored away weeks ahead of time. After dinner, my older sister would read the nativity story to us by the twinkling lights of the tree. Finally, after endless pleas of "When can we open the presents?" the moment finally arrived. One child was chosen to distribute the gifts. Despite our excitement, we opened them carefully one at a time, saving the wrapping paper for the next year, and savouring the gift within. It was a special time, prolonged by anticipation, and culminating in knowing that while it was pleasurable to receive, the real joy was in the giving. Christmas Day was a quiet family day to relax and count our blessings. Sometimes our relatives would call all the way from Finland to wish us a Merry Christmas. We would listen to traditional Christmas music on the old record player, or watch the black and white television. When the Queen came on with her annual Christmas message, we felt that the peace in our hearts was just the beginning of the peace she prayed for on earth. This is what my heart remembers. Maria Harden © 2001 mharden @ escape.ca (There is a space before and after the @ symbol to protect our writers from virus' and address harvest programs that are on the web. You are encouraged to write the author and let them know what you think about their story, just remember to remove the spaces.) --------------------------------------------------------- Maria ia a "wanna be" writer who delights in writing about past memories as well as writing about her family members, who always provide fodder for new stories. She lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, with her husband Neil, and works for a bank. --------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------- FROM OUR READERS ------------------------------------------------------ I'm sure we can all chuckle over Rose's story while we make sure not to leave out parts when we put toys together this year. Toni ------------------------------------------------------- <><Prayer Request For Those In Service To Our Country><> As you read over this list of names, take the time to pray for each one and their families. If you have a prayer request to add hit reply and send me their name and I will be happy to add it to our list. Trey, Chris Speir, Tim Speir, Emmett Summers, Jessie, Ken and Eloise asks for prayer for her family members and extended family in the Armed Forces. --------------------------------------------------------- Cheryl's Corner I hope your Christmas was as wonderful and stress free as mine was. We gave Tim a color television and Jeremy a stereo. They usually peek at what they have under the tree, so this year I wrapped and didn't put the recipients name on the packages. This may be the first year that they didn't unwrap and peek. Can you believe that this is the last issue of this year? This has been a great year and I am looking forward to 2002. I pray that the Lord blesses you and yours as only He can. God Bless, Cheryl --------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------- © 2001 Write 2 the Heart Nothing may be reproduced or published without the written permission of the individual author or copyright owner. ------------------------------------------------------------ All subscriptions sent to your email free of charge.