OP-ED: Some warm holiday memories
Until 1957, when my grandmother passed away, my brother and I shared a bedroom. We shared the same antique bed where my grandparents’ eight children were conceived and born. Thank goodness no one ever told us that when we were kids.
The heat for our house came from one of those old “Christmas Story”-type coal furnaces. These hand-fired, manually operated furnaces had asbestos-cement insulating shells and upright cylinder-shaped fire boxes with metal grates inside where coals burned and the ashes dropped through for removal later. That ashes-shoveling, lugging, and disposal saga is an entirely different story for another miserably frigid day.
Because the fire would burn out overnight, it was always ice cold when we woke up. This chill factor caused my brother and I to fight over who would get to sit on the cheesecloth-covered hot air register while we were putting on our clothes. He usually won.
As soon as the first ray of light hit the windows of their front bedroom, Dad would sleepily navigate two flights of stairs to the basement, wrestle out any clinkers stuck in the grate from the night before, and begin firing up that furnace. It was only minutes before the house warmed up.
On frigid mornings, frost formed on the windows due to the cold air outside meeting the warmer, moisture-laden air inside. This condensation froze on every single window pane. Our mom called these intricate frost patterns “The magical work of Jack Frost.” When the windows froze, we could often see our breath as we climbed out of bed.
Because we had no indoor plumbing until Grandma died, we used the “Peggy,” a chamber pot tucked under the bed for our bathroom break. Peggy was the euphemism my mom adopted for these chamber pots. I have heard them called Jerry, guzunder, and Thunder Pots, too.
We also had those big pitchers of water and wash bowls for cleaning our faces and hands. There was always a bar of Ivory Soap. When Dad got his new job selling Knights Life insurance, my folks bought the much classier Palmolive soap.
Since we lived in three rooms on the second floor of my grandparents’ house, the living room was the room right beside our bedroom, and that was where Dad would lug the Christmas tree every year. For some reason, he loved what I came to know as the Eastern White Pine trees. Maybe it was because these trees have soft, flexible 4-inch needles. They had a graceful appearance and smelled wonderful. Plus, these trees had excellent needle retention.
We would string popcorn. Then, we would hang big multi-colored red, green, blue, yellow, and white bubble lights. After that came those shiny balls that looked like aluminum. We would carefully hang them, but if you dropped one, it broke like glass. That’s because they were clear glass covered inside with silver nitrate. So, the outside surface seemed to be metal until they fell.
We then covered the tree in glittering aluminum tinsel that was supposed to emulate icicles. As a modern family, we also had plastic radium-filled icicles that glowed in the dark. Yep, they were radioactive. Remember, you could X-ray your foot at the Buster Brown Shoe Store to ensure you had the right-sized shoe.
We had a Lionel steam train set under that tree. And there was a complete Nativity scene. We had sheep, camels, shepherds, and Wisemen, around the manger. Inside were Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. My brother even made fake mountains out of special brown paper.
On Christmas morning, Dad would sit beside the tree in his nightshirt smoking a Kent cigarette with Mom beside him in her blue terry cloth bathrobe. My brother and I would rip through our presents like demented pirates.
Christmas dinner came later with lots of great food and relatives aplenty.
As you celebrate your family traditions, may your holiday memories warm you, like Jack Frost never could.
Nick Jacobs is a Windber resident.