Thanksgiving Leads to Christmas

It happened when she was in second grade. Christmas was coming, and Estelle knew what that meant. In the cold winter afternoons of December her mother would head upstairs to her treadle sewing machine, and as the bobbin and needle did their rhythmic dance between layers of soft, warm “outing flannel,” as her mother called it, nightgowns and pajamas would be made for every member of the family. It was fun to stroke the soft yellows and blues of the cloth on Christmas morning when the family opened their presents after their father did the morning milking. Like most farm routines, Christmas was pretty predictable for Estelle. Her brother and two older sisters would get their pajamas, and she would get a nightgown. Her father would get a striped nightshirt. During good years the family would also get a pair of bedroom slippers. During very good years everyone would find a hardly folded five-dollar bill inside the soft fabric. Aunt Alice would add to the festivities as she would repurpose various gifts her kindergarten children had given her for her nephew and nieces. Jewelry and candy were most likely gifts. There was also a tradition that the youngest child would give out the gifts Christmas morning as soon as he or she could read, so she had been the Santa for a couple years. This year seemed like a no-brainer. Her older siblings, who were now twelve, fifteen, and seventeen, dealt with Christmas with adolescent disinterest, although they still were hopeful that this year would bring clothes instead of pajamas, or at least something to show off when they went back to school after Christmas vacation. Without a great deal of anticipation the family gathered in the large living room where Estelle and her mother had installed the large pine tree they had cut from a neighbor’s lot. It was a little tipsy that year, so they tied it to the window latch to prevent a catastrophe. Estelle loved putting on the lights. There was something about the scent of pine, the large multicolored lights of green, blue, red, yellowy gold, and white that made her heart dance. She cleaned the room, lovingly brought out the Christmas decorations from the back of the closet, and cranked up the radio, listening for Christmas carols to fill her heart with charm and possibility. She baked Christmas cookies, for by now she had mastered the sugar cookie recipe, and she rolled stars, candy canes, trees, and ornaments. Christmas was all about hope for the seven-year-old heart. Being jaded, she decided, came with age, as her siblings ignored her Christmas preparations. This year she was doing her part for the miracle to come to life. There was the Christmas party at school where you brought fifty-cent gifts for a grab bag. Even for Estelle in second grade, this was one of the more disappointing aspects of the holiday. She never got something she considered useful, and she was a pragmatic child. Aunt Alice came for Christmas vacation. The Christmas Eve pageant at church was a different story. Here Hollywood could not touch the depth of realism she felt as the boys dressed in their plaid flannel bathrobes walked down the drafty aisles of the church, and the small congregation sang, “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night.” Her heart erupted with joy as the “Silent Night” candles turned the tiny sanctuary into Mary’s maternity ward and God’s redemption center.