Christmas at Mildred/Gran's house

The street where my grandparents Mildred & Dutch lived

Christmas at Mildred’s house was amazing. It meant family, food and gifts. For weeks ahead MIldred baked specially cut and decorated sugar cookies and old fashioned toll house cookies and carefully stored them in her endless supply of tin boxes. On Christmas Eve her entire extended family came for the day and her kitchen and living room had every surface covered with goodies.  Growing up eating piles of sugar foods set my sweet tooth very early, especially for chocolate. No one seemed to have a clue that permitting a child to eat a diet predominated by sweets could do them harm.  Since no one managed to take me to the dentist until I was a teenager I have a mouth full of dental craftsmanship and have probably added a wing to the home of more than one dentist. How I wish sealants were invented when I was a child.

The amazing part is I was always SKINNY- so skinny that everyone and I do mean everyone from kids in school to relatives made fun of me for being skinny…like I could help it. This was before girls were allowed to wear pants to school so I quietly endured the pain of almost daily comments about my skinny legs.  I tried so many tactics for gaining weight and nothing ever worked- until recently that is.  Now I can look at something chocolate and gain a pound. I know no one understands. Right?

The German men in the family had a fondness for the holiday highlight - raw beef sandwiches.  They started with white bread slices spread with German mustard and pickles then layered on the thickly sliced onions and hefty raw beef patties from the serving trays. Umm. I remember eating this holiday culinary specialty and thinking I liked it. Nowadays I can imagine how mortified guests would be if one served such potentially bacteria laden fare. Back then it was a special treat.

Opening presents was the culmination of the celebration and I knew to look for the package with the big Santa on the front. Gran (as I called Mildred) put that package in a prominent place because after all I was the only grandchild of her only child. I looked for that package first for many Christmases. My grandmother lived through the depression and was a masterful recycler. Year after year she carefully removed the wrapping paper from every gift, removed the tape and carefully folded and stored each piece for next Christmas. The idea of throwing away anything was foreign. There was very little trash since most everything was used again. 

I recall one afternoon when Gran was putting away Christmas items and layering the used folded wrapping paper inside a large rectangular box. There was clearly more wrapping paper than the box would hold but she paid that no mind and was determined to make it all fit. One of Gran’s little problems might be called rage-a-holism nowadays.  Something would set her off and she would pitch a real fit with thrashing arms, yelling at varying decibels- the works. Usually when during these events everyone around ran for quiet cover. When Gran behaved this way in the car we were trapped and forced to listen as she vented herself into feeling better. This time after numerous efforts to close it resulted in the wrapping box popping back open on one side Gran really lost it and started swearing and hitting the box as if she could beat it into submission. I stood by watching and working with everything in me to hold back the belly laughs. I failed which incited Gran all the more in her rage against the recycling box.

Consumable items such as milk, soda, and even potato chips were purchased with a deposit for the containers that were returned to the store or delivery man (always a man) to get your deposit back. It was common to place empty bottles outside your door for the milkman to pick up and replace with full bottles. I remember the “Charlie Chip” man who used to deliver potato chips all around our neighborhood. I recall a television jingle about having milk, butter, eggs and cheese fresh from the farm to your door- “If you don’t own a cow call the dairy now” is something I can still sing exactly the way I heard it on the small television. Such is the power of music.

My question for today is: Do you know anyone who lived through the depression?