’Twas the Night Before
Christmas Eve Stirred with Excitement
Christmas Eve 1957. I was 10 and trying to sit still on my grandmother’s green mohair couch. The back of my dress was scrunched up behind me and the rough upholstery scratched my bare legs. My sister, Jane, 12, and younger brother, John, needed no reminders to sit still and wait for dinner. I hated that couch (or divan, as my mother called it).
My Aunt Betty and Uncle Bill, who lived next door, were there with their four children, Billy Jo, Timmy, Dick and little sister Terry. We lived just down the hill and we were very close to our cousins.
Grandma Ennis was one of my favorites. At 5 feet 6 inches, with snow white hair, she was always easy to find. That night she wore a lovely apron with a Christmas motif she had designed herself. She made this holiday perfect, and we waited for it all year.
A 4-foot Christmas tree adorned with handblown glass ornaments, bubble lights and tinsel sat on Grandma’s TV. Grandma liked to decorate it herself to surprise us when we arrived. Every year the tree had the same decorations, but we always acted surprised.
Brightly colored packages were stacked under the tree, some leaning against the TV cabinet, others spilling onto the living room floor. The boxes and bags were Grandma’s works of art. Ribbons matching the wrapping paper wound around each box as if it was the most important gift she was giving. The Christmas stockings she’d made for each of us hung next to the tree.
Before dinner, Grandma would ask Uncle
Bill to play Christmas music. The voices of Bing Crosby, Bob Hope and my favorite, Perry Como, drifted around the room, adding to the festivities. Everyone knew the songs by heart: “White Christmas,” “God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman” and “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” We all sang along and nobody cared if you couldn’t carry a tune. This was a family tradition.
My mother, Percy, and Aunt Betty set the table with the good linens and china. They lit candles and heaped food into serving bowls. When dinner was finally served, we chose our seat around the big cherry-wood Windsor table. It was a tight fit, but no one ever suggested that any of us eat at another table.
That year was one of my favorites because my dad, Louis, came home in time to have dinner with us. He worked at the Minneapolis train depot and didn’t get holiday pay unless he worked. This year, his boss must have let the men off early.
The food tasted more delicious than ever. This was one of the few times I saw my grandma sit. We laughed and talked about what we wanted for Christmas and discussed the letters we had sent Santa.
After dinner, the women cleared the table, did the dishes and tidied the kitchen. None of the children helped because the kitchen was
so small. We were told to wait quietly while they finished.
When the cleanup was done, everyone scrambled to find a place to sit in the living room. Then Grandma handed out the presents, giving each of us children three very similar-looking packages.
We tore open the boxes to find that Grandma had made pajama bags for us with matching pajamas inside. Each bag was a different design—a dog, a cat, a clown. Mine was a pig with ears and a round snout made out of soft pink velvet. With the PJs out of their bags, Grandma showed us how to fold them so they fit back inside, and then, how to use the bags as pillows.
In the next box were crocheted slippers to match our pajamas, and in the last big box, a bathrobe. I couldn’t wait to go to bed that night wearing the cozy bed clothes Grandma had made for me.
The gifts were the best I could have hoped for.
The whole night felt special. About 11:30, we left for midnight Mass at St. Therese Catholic Church, a couple of miles away.
Grandma did not join us for the Christmas Eve service and was probably glad to have peace and quiet in her home again. I have no doubt that she cleaned up the mess, stored the dishes in the living room buffet and, before retiring, was making plans for next Christmas Eve.
I loved being up so late and taking part in all of the magic of midnight Mass. The choir sang my favorite carols, the priest told us this was a new beginning, and the smell of incense made it feel that much more important.
When the doors to the church opened and we walked outside, it was snowing lightly. Not enough to be a problem for the cars in the parking lot, but just enough to see Santa’s sleigh marks in the snow.