Holiday Memories

Christmas 1961 John, Mario, Gary the Seeing Eye dog, Jane holding me, and Rita

The flash of a camera bulb always hurt my eyes, so I usually turned my head away whenever I saw my sister Anne wielding her Kodak. I was eight years old and holding my stuffed “Billy Goat” that I got for Christmas. Rita was eleven and John was almost fifteen. Anne was eighteen and a college freshman, home for the holidays. Since she’s not in the picture, I assume that she was behind the camera.

This picture was taken in our living room at 2520 W. Jackson St in Muncie. Furniture was moved around to put the Christmas tree in front of the windows. Anne supervised the tree decorating, with Mom occasionally asking to see an old ornament. I would hand it to her and she felt it with her fingers, commenting on the shape and feel of the ornament. Mom almost always remembered where she got it or who gave it to her.

My favorite part of decorating the tree was carefully tossing the silver tinsel onto the branches. I wasn’t old enough to thread the lights on the branches, but I loved the colorful bubble lights. I often sat in the white chair, mesmerized by the bubbling. Dad had an extensive collection of Christmas music that he played on the living room stereo. I’m certain that carols were playing when this picture was taken.

A holiday tradition was sitting and relaxing by the fire. It was often bitter cold in December and a fire was the perfect way to spend an evening. I loved to watch Dad make a fire. First, he’d bring in some logs and kindling. Then he found some old newspapers (where Mom had them stashed away in a cupboard). He reached up to open the damper. He gave the metal chain a jerk, and the damper swung open. I told him that he had some black soot on his hand and he said, “I know. I’ll wash my hands after I start the fire.”

Striking the match, he laid it down on the paper. Soon he heard the paper start burning and felt the growing heat. Eventually, the kindling caught and the logs began to burn. It didn’t occur to me to worry that my blind father was starting a fire in our living room. He’d been building fires since I could remember. We never had a problem.

Both of my parents enjoyed the crackling and popping sounds of the fire, sitting close enough to feel the warmth. I liked to sit with them and watch the fire. It was comforting and relaxing to be with my family. Gary, Dad’s dog, also enjoyed soaking up the heat.

I can still hear that record playing, “Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful…”