A Christmas Past - Being 60 (week 32 - by Margaret Ullrich)

So, Santa did find me and my nine-month-old sister.

My fifth Christmas was a time of change for our family.

I was becoming American.

Thank you, Nonni.

  

Christmases marked our changes.  

The next Christmas I had a 15-day-old brother.

Well, it was the 50s.

That was a huge Christmas for our family.  Santa was in a very generous mood that year.  

Pop was in his glory.  He finally had a son, an heir.  Pop's dynasty could begin.  He could go toe to toe with Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip.  He was one up on Philip.  We had his family's name.  Visions of grandsons were dancing in Pop's head.  

And there'd be hundreds of descendants to come.

He'd be another Abraham.

In the 50s all things were possible.

Another thing that was possible was my learning how to read and write.  The next year I wrote a letter to Santa.  

I wanted a bicycle.

I asked my parents if they thought Santa would give me a bike.  Pop agreed I'd been a good girl, helping Ma with the two babies.  Ma said I was becoming really good at changing diapers and giving bottles.  Yes, they thought Santa would grant me my wish.

  

My siblings were also growing and going after what they wanted.  While George was barely aware of his first Christmas, that year he was fascinated by the Christmas tree.  He kept trying to grab the ornaments.  Every chance he got, he'd climb onto the sofa and reach out to the branches.

We weren't worried.  He just sat on the couch and reached.  

Then George figured out that he'd get closer to the tree if he got on the armrest and then grabbed for a shiny ball or two.

He'd have done it, if he hadn't lost his balance and landed on the three Kings' camel.

That camel wasn't exactly built to carry a toddler.

No problem.  There were more camels in the 5 & 10.

The big day came.  

I got my bike.

It was blue.

I called it Blue Bird.

I was so glad I had learned how to write and read.  

I read anything and everything I could.

Including the labels on Blue Bird.  

The seat had been made in one country.  

The tires in another.  

The frame in yet a third.  

Suddenly, I had an awful thought.  

My Blue Bird was made by people in different countries.  

Not one label said the North Pole.

Nothing was made in the North Pole.

Nothing was made by Santa's elves.   

My parents admitted that, yes, my bike hadn't been made by Santa's elves.  They had bought it.  Blue was my favorite color.  Didn't I like it?  

They smiled and said I was a big girl.  I was too big to believe in Santa.  

But, I was supposed to help the babies believe in Santa for as long as possible. 

I was seven.

The oldest.  

Not a baby anymore.

I felt like I was George reaching for the balls, losing my balance and falling on the camel.

What People Leave by Margaret Ullrich

Paul's parents had set up their affairs very well. My parents didn't.

We're slowly getting used to our new situation. My brother George lived with our parents all his life and he's sorting out the paperwork. He was just beginning to see the end of the work from our Pop's death in January. Then Ma died in October, a week after her 87th birthday. He wrote us:


I'm slowly getting used to the house being empty and quiet.

It's a long day. I usually get up at 4:30 a.m. I'm at work by 5:30 a.m. On a good day I'm out by 4:00 p.m., but usually I get out by 6:00 p.m. By the time I get home, cook dinner, clean up, I'm ready to crash and go to bed.

Well, maybe that's a good thing. Keeping busy at work takes my mind off of Mom and Pop's death. I'm also still working on getting my house ready to move into. Between working on that house and doing the maintenance on these houses, that pretty much keeps me busy during the weekend.


We hope George will be able to take better care of himself now, too. He's had a rough time of it since the century began. He had to go to the Towers on 9/11. He saw people jumping while the Towers burned. During the past 7 years he also had to take our parents to all their doctors' appointments.


We're learning about settling estates from friends who are also former Americans. Our friend Roger was from Brooklyn. He had to settle his Dad's estate, and he explained the procedure:

We get the wills and the papers and show them to our investment advisor for the financial aspect and the lawyer for the legal aspect of the situation. After our lawyer has a chance to go through everything, then she'll get in touch with the estate's lawyer. There's no point for them to talk now since our lawyer hasn't seen anything.


It's a slow process, but I'm sure it will sort itself out.

Thanksgiving, Then and Now by Margaret Ullrich

Yes, Thanksgiving was a day for gratitude.


We went for a walk after breakfast. On our walk back home we've been enjoying free coffee at our neighborhood McDonald's. Before, when we had dogs, we always had to sit outside. Now, we can get in out of the cold.

Our local McDonald's has its own regulars - retired folks such as ourselves who drop in to socialize over a cup. We've been sitting and chatting with people we know from church. It's a whole new world for us.


On Thanksgiving, we got home in time to watch the Macy's parade and the dog show. Dinner was easy since it was leftover turkey with homemade cranberry sauce, vegetables and pumpkin pie. Same as we've been having for 37 years.


I couldn't understand why I felt so relaxed. I remembered other American Thanksgivings we had observed. By the end of the day I was wiped out. Was it just because I was more experienced? What was different?


Of course... I didn't have to phone home.


Every holiday of every year I had called my parents. As the years went by, it became a three-day operation - a day to prepare, the day of the call, a day to wind down. The calls had become more stressful as my parents became more elderly, ill and disappointed.


The latest disappointment was my mother's and brother's upcoming move from my parents' duplex to a one-family house my brother had recently bought.

When Ma first mentioned George had bought a house she said, "I'm moving from a big house to a doll house." She always liked big houses. When they visited and we walked around here, she would point out the newer larger houses.


I hope she had finally gotten used to the idea of moving to a smaller house. On our last call, when I mentioned we were having Bathfitters do our bathroom, she talked about all the upgrades George was doing before their move. She seemed pleased.


But, with Ma it was always something.