I am sure every family has unique ways of celebrating the Christmas season. Going to the holiday parade, hanging of the greens, or just eating a delicious meal together, every family has their own exclusive way to celebrate Christmas with their immediate family. My family is just like everyone else, and we have many Christmas rituals that have become traditions and it does not seem like Christmas without them.
I know it may seem like we are rushing the season, but we have always put our Christmas tree up on Thanksgiving Day. We look forward to setting up the tree and decorating with all the lights and ornaments. Last year my husband added a special feature to our tree—a revolving tree stand. Now, not only do we have many colorful lights and hundreds of wonderful ornaments, but the tree slowly turns so every side is visible. The first time I saw the tree all lit up, I wasn’t sure if I was excited or just nauseous with motion sickness, but after a few minutes, it began to grow on me. One major advantage to the revolving tree is more of my precious ornaments can be seen.
Our Christmas traditions have grown into the non-stop, hurry-hurry, rush-rush of one huge meal after another and then the outrageous amount of gifts there are to open. It seems we have become so trained to try and make our holiday season as picture perfect as possible that we have forgotten to slow down and just enjoy the season.
My children have always been my motivation when it came to the holiday seasons. I’m guilty of trying to make my children’s Christmas’ as perfect as possible. I always had to make sure I had just the right gift and that I had spent equal amounts of money on each child, which can be really hard if there, is a big age difference in your children. Now that I have two grown daughters and a ten-year-old, my enthusiasm to have the “perfect Christmas” is starting to fade. I am beginning to have a greater appreciation for a more simple type of celebration. Is it because I’m getting older, or is it because my children are getting older?
This Christmas will revolve around that inevitable question…”Momma is Santa Claus real?” I don’t think there is a parent out there who has not felt that pang of sadness when their children stop believing in Santa. Although my brain tells me that Christine has stopped believing in Santa, my heart has a hard time accepting. I hate to see this tiny bit of childhood fantasy come to an end. Christmas is truly for children but I am going to miss playing “Santa” every year. ZI am going to miss making sure there are just enough crumbs left on Santa’s plate so the girls think he got full. Or, meticulously wrapping each and every gift from Santa, all in the same type of paper with the same types of bows. Or, putting on bright red lipstick and kissing each girl on the cheek every Christmas Eve, just so they will think Santa cam in to kiss them.
This year, it will be just me, my hubby and Christine to open gifts on Christmas morning. I am not going to make an issue of Santa, I’ll just do like I did with the big girls, and I’ll ignore it. I never had the Santa “talk” with Amber or Marie, and I probably won’t with Christine. They have all three asked me, at one time or another, if “I” believed in Santa and my answer was always “YES”. I firmly believe that when a child wants to stop believing, he or she will, but they should not be forced to give up the fantasy before they are ready. So, until Christine is ready to truly stop believing, we will still open gifts on Christmas morning. In all honesty, my husband can’t wait until Christine decides she wants to open up ALL her gifts on Christmas Eve, just like her sisters. Then we can stop getting up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning. Now that is one tradition I won’t miss!
© Bobbi Rightmyer, December 2002
Monday, December 2, 2002
Saturday, June 8, 2002
The Lessons of a Child
All our lives we have been taught to learn from the examples set forth by my elders. We learn by reaping the benefits of life by following the rules imposed on us by our parents. We learn by fostering information and lessons from our school teachers. We learn from the patience and unconditional love shown us by our grandparents. We also learn by following examples of faith observed by our religious leaders. But how many times do we learn from someone younger, like a child? My life recently entered a new phase of education, and the teacher. . ? My nine-year-old daughter, Christine.
Raising children has been the hardest job I have ever tried to tackle. Being responsible for molding and shaping the life of another human being is a taunting task, and there have been many, many times when I have felt like a failure. There have also been many other times when I have been in awe of the lessons my children have learned. As a parent, I want what every other parent wants, for my children to be happy, healthy, and to have all the advantages life has to offer. As my oldest two daughters reach adulthood, I look back and realize I didn’t do such a bad job after all.
The oldest, Amber, choosing not to pursue a college career, is a happy, hardworking member of our society. She is following her own dreams, even though they were not my dreams for her. She is her own woman and she has learned to support herself by following the examples of the adults in her life. My middle daughter, Marie, is preparing to graduate high school, and as an honor student, again my hopes are high that she will continue her education. But like her older sister, Marie is her own woman and she will not be pushed into a preordained mold. At this writing, she is still undecided about her plans for the future, but I rest assured knowing she has the skills and intelligence to following her own plan for the future.
As for my youngest daughter, Christine has had a much more relaxed upbringing in comparison to her sisters. When Amber was born she brought with her all my insecurities of being a first time parent. Everything had to be Dr. Spock perfect, so I placed undo pressure on her to be perfect. When Marie was born, I threw Dr. Spock out the window because I was doing good just to keep two children clean and feed. By the time Christine arrived, I had already lived through every possible scenario of childhood. I learned it doesn’t matter how early my child walked or talked, or what kind of clothes they wore, or if their face and hands were clean 100 percent of the time. By the time children reach adulthood, none of their childhood accomplishments matter. When I see Christine doing something that is against the norm, I have learned to ask myself, “Will it matter in ten years?” If the answer is no, then I don’t force my opinion on her. Like her sisters, she is growing into her own person.
As for me, Christine has taught me that it is possible to teach an old dog new tricks. I have always considered myself a religious person, even though my church attendance has been sporadic throughout the years. My oldest daughters have adopted my relaxed ideas on religion, but not Christine. She has embraced religion with a passion I haven’t seen since my Granny Devine was alive. Christine is active in every aspect of church life from choir to GA’s (Girls in Action) to the recent Easter pageant. She was so excited about her role in the pageant and her enthusiasm spread to her father and myself.
The Sunday morning Christine accepted Jesus as her personal savior, my heart swelled with pride. Her subsequent baptism on Easter Sunday was a testament of her faith and belief, but it was also an awakening for me. Through her simple act of believing in Christ, I realized I had been taking my faith for granted. Although Christine has a long way to go before she reaches adulthood, I now know this road will be paved, not only with her experiences, but also with the lessons we teach each other.
And as Christine so plainly stated, her name contains the greatest name of all. . .Christ.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, June 2002
Raising children has been the hardest job I have ever tried to tackle. Being responsible for molding and shaping the life of another human being is a taunting task, and there have been many, many times when I have felt like a failure. There have also been many other times when I have been in awe of the lessons my children have learned. As a parent, I want what every other parent wants, for my children to be happy, healthy, and to have all the advantages life has to offer. As my oldest two daughters reach adulthood, I look back and realize I didn’t do such a bad job after all.
The oldest, Amber, choosing not to pursue a college career, is a happy, hardworking member of our society. She is following her own dreams, even though they were not my dreams for her. She is her own woman and she has learned to support herself by following the examples of the adults in her life. My middle daughter, Marie, is preparing to graduate high school, and as an honor student, again my hopes are high that she will continue her education. But like her older sister, Marie is her own woman and she will not be pushed into a preordained mold. At this writing, she is still undecided about her plans for the future, but I rest assured knowing she has the skills and intelligence to following her own plan for the future.
As for my youngest daughter, Christine has had a much more relaxed upbringing in comparison to her sisters. When Amber was born she brought with her all my insecurities of being a first time parent. Everything had to be Dr. Spock perfect, so I placed undo pressure on her to be perfect. When Marie was born, I threw Dr. Spock out the window because I was doing good just to keep two children clean and feed. By the time Christine arrived, I had already lived through every possible scenario of childhood. I learned it doesn’t matter how early my child walked or talked, or what kind of clothes they wore, or if their face and hands were clean 100 percent of the time. By the time children reach adulthood, none of their childhood accomplishments matter. When I see Christine doing something that is against the norm, I have learned to ask myself, “Will it matter in ten years?” If the answer is no, then I don’t force my opinion on her. Like her sisters, she is growing into her own person.
As for me, Christine has taught me that it is possible to teach an old dog new tricks. I have always considered myself a religious person, even though my church attendance has been sporadic throughout the years. My oldest daughters have adopted my relaxed ideas on religion, but not Christine. She has embraced religion with a passion I haven’t seen since my Granny Devine was alive. Christine is active in every aspect of church life from choir to GA’s (Girls in Action) to the recent Easter pageant. She was so excited about her role in the pageant and her enthusiasm spread to her father and myself.
The Sunday morning Christine accepted Jesus as her personal savior, my heart swelled with pride. Her subsequent baptism on Easter Sunday was a testament of her faith and belief, but it was also an awakening for me. Through her simple act of believing in Christ, I realized I had been taking my faith for granted. Although Christine has a long way to go before she reaches adulthood, I now know this road will be paved, not only with her experiences, but also with the lessons we teach each other.
And as Christine so plainly stated, her name contains the greatest name of all. . .Christ.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, June 2002
Wednesday, May 8, 2002
Recording the Past
As I contemplate my role as a mother, I can’t help but see the role of “mother” as a basically, thankless role. While I sit home moaning and groaning because my “big” girls don’t visit as often as I like, I realize my kids learned by my example. My kids don’t visit because I don’t visit. This realization hit me like a lightning bolt on a clear, blue day. Do my mother and my mother-in-law sit at home wondering about the same things I do? As the lightning bolt sliced through my heart, I understood that, yeah, most mothers have the same complaint when it comes to their grown children … why don’t they visit more often?
I look back and the majority of what I remember about my childhood are the happy times. With three children of my own, I know there were many, many bad times growing up, but for some reason, we seem to suppress the bad in favor of the good. Maybe it has something to do with the way our pasts are recorded for prosperity. Have you ever taken a really close look at an old photograph and ever wondered, “What’s going on in that person’s life right now?” Try it some time; you’ll have a new appreciation for the people of your past.
Like me, my mother keeps her photographs, newspaper clippings, and other mementos of her past in a wide array of places. Boxes, dresser drawers, you name it and there is probably a little stash of memorabilia carefully tucked away. As I look through these treasures, I suddenly see a pattern to all this information. Every picture, every newspaper clipping, every little scrap of paper or ribbon, everything had to do with a happy memory from the past. To a stranger, all these happy recordings of our past would show my family as the perfect little family. But these recordings don’t show the whole truth. Where are the bad times? Where are the bad memories? Because of some unknown force, the only things my mother saved were things that correlated with the happy times of our childhood.
At home, alone with all my own boxes and drawers of keepsakes, I realized all my children’s scrapbooks contain happy memories. There are no bad times recorded, only the good remembrances. But that wasn’t the only thing I noticed, I also realized that photographs belonging to my grandparents showed a different kind of life. As I continued to stare at these faded reflections of the past, I realized my ancestors were just like me, in that they recorded many good memories. But what struck me as odd, were these pictures also recorded the bad times. Floods, tornados, fires; all types of destruction, even death, were recorded along with the birthdays and weddings. Looking at these pictorial scenes, you can see people who have suffered bad right along with the good.
When did our generation stop acknowledging the bad stuff in our lives? When did we decide it was okay for our children to grow up remembering all the good things? Right now there are probably hundreds to thousands of news stories and photographs flooding every type of communication media, and they all concern one thing: the crises in the Middle East. But as we sit at home, watching the war unfold, how many of us are saving pictures or clipping newspaper stories of the terror overseas? How many of us are writing down thoughts and ideas we have concerning the war, so that our children will have some idea of how we are feeling during with worldwide conflict? I know there is not enough, and that has to change so our children don’t grow up with a warped sense of their history.
Where would our society be without The Diary of Anne Frank, or all the hundreds of other books about Holocaust survivors? Where would our national pride be without all the immerging news coverage of the attack on Pearl Harbor or the Korean War? And where would our democratic arrogance be without the traumatic coverage of the Vietnam War? Our national pride has slowly been on the rise since the first Gulf War, and with the events of September 11, 2001, Americans have really stepped up to the plate.
I have always kept scrapbooks and journals for all three of my children, as well as myself. I noticed that for the past few years my keepsake skills have decreased dramatically as my life has become busier. With renewed energy I told myself I would do better; that was Mother’s Day 2001. As an avid reader of TIME and Newsweek, as well as the entertainment section of the USA Today, last year I began cutting an occasional article about whatever was happening in the world, good as well as bad. I tried to make a concentrated effort to record my feelings on the Middle East Crisis, and of course, the horrors of September 11. So far, I think I’ve done a pretty good job, although it has been hard to actually write down my feelings about the bad things in the world. Hopefully, my grandchildren will have a better understanding of the aftermath of September 11.
If you don’t already keep a personal journal or some type of scrapbook, it’s never too late to start. Mother’s Day is coming up; make sure you visit your Mom. But not just because it’s a holiday; we all just need to visit more often, period. We need to talk with our relatives and record it for our future generations. Whenever my mother or mother-in-law make some little comment about something that happened in the past, I try to remember and write it down in my journal. Hopefully, my future generations will be able to piece together a historically accurate account of their past, the good along with the bad.
Happy Mother’s Day to my Moms: Brenda Devine Sallee and Christine Holtzclaw Rightmyer.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, May 2002
I look back and the majority of what I remember about my childhood are the happy times. With three children of my own, I know there were many, many bad times growing up, but for some reason, we seem to suppress the bad in favor of the good. Maybe it has something to do with the way our pasts are recorded for prosperity. Have you ever taken a really close look at an old photograph and ever wondered, “What’s going on in that person’s life right now?” Try it some time; you’ll have a new appreciation for the people of your past.
Like me, my mother keeps her photographs, newspaper clippings, and other mementos of her past in a wide array of places. Boxes, dresser drawers, you name it and there is probably a little stash of memorabilia carefully tucked away. As I look through these treasures, I suddenly see a pattern to all this information. Every picture, every newspaper clipping, every little scrap of paper or ribbon, everything had to do with a happy memory from the past. To a stranger, all these happy recordings of our past would show my family as the perfect little family. But these recordings don’t show the whole truth. Where are the bad times? Where are the bad memories? Because of some unknown force, the only things my mother saved were things that correlated with the happy times of our childhood.
At home, alone with all my own boxes and drawers of keepsakes, I realized all my children’s scrapbooks contain happy memories. There are no bad times recorded, only the good remembrances. But that wasn’t the only thing I noticed, I also realized that photographs belonging to my grandparents showed a different kind of life. As I continued to stare at these faded reflections of the past, I realized my ancestors were just like me, in that they recorded many good memories. But what struck me as odd, were these pictures also recorded the bad times. Floods, tornados, fires; all types of destruction, even death, were recorded along with the birthdays and weddings. Looking at these pictorial scenes, you can see people who have suffered bad right along with the good.
When did our generation stop acknowledging the bad stuff in our lives? When did we decide it was okay for our children to grow up remembering all the good things? Right now there are probably hundreds to thousands of news stories and photographs flooding every type of communication media, and they all concern one thing: the crises in the Middle East. But as we sit at home, watching the war unfold, how many of us are saving pictures or clipping newspaper stories of the terror overseas? How many of us are writing down thoughts and ideas we have concerning the war, so that our children will have some idea of how we are feeling during with worldwide conflict? I know there is not enough, and that has to change so our children don’t grow up with a warped sense of their history.
Where would our society be without The Diary of Anne Frank, or all the hundreds of other books about Holocaust survivors? Where would our national pride be without all the immerging news coverage of the attack on Pearl Harbor or the Korean War? And where would our democratic arrogance be without the traumatic coverage of the Vietnam War? Our national pride has slowly been on the rise since the first Gulf War, and with the events of September 11, 2001, Americans have really stepped up to the plate.
I have always kept scrapbooks and journals for all three of my children, as well as myself. I noticed that for the past few years my keepsake skills have decreased dramatically as my life has become busier. With renewed energy I told myself I would do better; that was Mother’s Day 2001. As an avid reader of TIME and Newsweek, as well as the entertainment section of the USA Today, last year I began cutting an occasional article about whatever was happening in the world, good as well as bad. I tried to make a concentrated effort to record my feelings on the Middle East Crisis, and of course, the horrors of September 11. So far, I think I’ve done a pretty good job, although it has been hard to actually write down my feelings about the bad things in the world. Hopefully, my grandchildren will have a better understanding of the aftermath of September 11.
If you don’t already keep a personal journal or some type of scrapbook, it’s never too late to start. Mother’s Day is coming up; make sure you visit your Mom. But not just because it’s a holiday; we all just need to visit more often, period. We need to talk with our relatives and record it for our future generations. Whenever my mother or mother-in-law make some little comment about something that happened in the past, I try to remember and write it down in my journal. Hopefully, my future generations will be able to piece together a historically accurate account of their past, the good along with the bad.
Happy Mother’s Day to my Moms: Brenda Devine Sallee and Christine Holtzclaw Rightmyer.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, May 2002
Wednesday, December 12, 2001
All I Want For Christmas
Hunting for the perfect Christmas present can sometimes be a hug ordeal. Running from store to store, checking sale ads, even surfing the web, sometimes that one special item simply eludes us—or we may have no idea what the certain item is.
There have been numerous times when my children have asked for a Christmas present and I have no idea what it is, much less where I can go to buy it—or the item is so popular every store you go to is sold out. Last year it was Color Game Boy. At the end of summer, you could find them everywhere and in every color. By Thanksgiving they were no where to be found, and after searching town after town, I ended up settling for the only color I could find, which, of course was not the preferred color. Remember Furby? The first Christmas of Furby was a futile search, and by the time I found one for the next Christmas, Furby was a thing of the past. What about Cabbage Patch Kids? For two years I hunted high and low for the perfect doll--now you can find them anywhere, but their popularity has died down.
Okay, so you manage to fulfill the lists of all your little elves, but how, where do you hide your stash until the big day? Obviously, I am not sneaky enough, or my kids have extraordinary skills as spies, because they always seem to find at least one of their presents early. Last year I finally found what I think is the perfect hiding place, and I could tell you where it is, but then I would have to kill you.
Now, I am a wonderful snoop—you were wondering where my kids got it? My Granny Devine used to call my “Nosey Rosy”, but try as I might; I never had any luck finding my parents hiding places. Sure, I was great at peeling the tape off presents left u under the tree, and then carefully concealing the fact that I had opened them, but I could never find the hiding spot.
In 1971, I was nine-years-old and I still believed in Santa—actually, I have never stopped believing. This particular Christmas, Santa gave us kid’s new bedroom furniture. My sister and I got matching twin beds with a dresser and nightstand to use in our shared bedroom. My brother got the same for his room. This furniture was set up and waiting in our rooms when we came home from Granny Devine’s house on Christmas Eve. We also each had a beautiful new bedspread with curtains to match. This was a big deal for me, because up to this point, my sister and I shared a full size bed. Now I had a bed of my own. I thought Santa was full of magic that year, but I kept wondering why Granny Devine came home with us that night, because this was something she never did. It was years later I learned Granny had made the bedspread and curtains, and she wanted to be there to see our faces. I’m sure she was happy with our excitement. In addition to the bedspread and curtains, she had also made each of us a bathrobe and crotched my sister and me a pair of house slippers.
It is better to give than to receive—how many times have we heard, or said, that very thing? Of course, as children, we wanted everything in sight—the latest toy or game or doll. As adults, our priorities change, especially after we have children of our own, after all, Christmas is for children.
Still, everyone has memories of that special Christmas when we wanted, and probably received, one special item we dreamed about for months. For me, it was the Christmas of 1973 and I was 11-years-old, not yet a teenager, but definitely not a child, or at least that is what I thought. This particular year I asked for roller skates like the older kids had, a stuffed turtle with a denim shell, and the brand new Hudson Brothers album. The Hudson Brothers has a Saturday morning television show I was absolutely in love with. I never missed an episode, even going so far as to tape the shows on my audio tape recorder. What I wouldn’t have give if VCR technology was available back then. Anyway, that Christmas I did receive everything I asked for, but I am sure my parents had a hard time finding the Hudson Brothers album; after all, they weren’t a very popular band. Believe it or not, I still have that album after 30 years. My own kids think I’m crazy.
Over the years I have received many wonderful gifts, but as I get older, I get more joy out of give the perfect gift, especially to my children. I remember hunting for He-Man and She-Ra items, Teddy Roping, talking Big Bird, Strawberry Shortcake, My Little Pony and Barney. I have shopped for the latest CDs from Korn, Nine-Inch Nails, and Nirvana, as well as Britney Spears and Aaron Carter. Every year presents from “Mom and Dad” are wrapped in a wide variety of papers, but gifts from “Santa” are all wrapped in the same identical paper, lovingly wrapped by elves.
We all know Christmas is not all about presents, but when you have children, gifts play a major role in the holidays. Even though you try to teach your children that it is better to give than to receive, it is hard for them to see past all the commercialization. Let’s face it, at Christmas time; advertisements are aimed straight for our kids.
Christmas will take on a new meaning in 2001, because of the War on Terror still raging over seas. This year children will still be receiving that one special gift, but maybe they will receive something even more precious. Even though it will not fit in a Christmas stocking, we are all blessed with the preservation of America’s freedom and the unification of the American people.
Merry Christmas and God bless us all.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, December 2001
There have been numerous times when my children have asked for a Christmas present and I have no idea what it is, much less where I can go to buy it—or the item is so popular every store you go to is sold out. Last year it was Color Game Boy. At the end of summer, you could find them everywhere and in every color. By Thanksgiving they were no where to be found, and after searching town after town, I ended up settling for the only color I could find, which, of course was not the preferred color. Remember Furby? The first Christmas of Furby was a futile search, and by the time I found one for the next Christmas, Furby was a thing of the past. What about Cabbage Patch Kids? For two years I hunted high and low for the perfect doll--now you can find them anywhere, but their popularity has died down.
Okay, so you manage to fulfill the lists of all your little elves, but how, where do you hide your stash until the big day? Obviously, I am not sneaky enough, or my kids have extraordinary skills as spies, because they always seem to find at least one of their presents early. Last year I finally found what I think is the perfect hiding place, and I could tell you where it is, but then I would have to kill you.
Now, I am a wonderful snoop—you were wondering where my kids got it? My Granny Devine used to call my “Nosey Rosy”, but try as I might; I never had any luck finding my parents hiding places. Sure, I was great at peeling the tape off presents left u under the tree, and then carefully concealing the fact that I had opened them, but I could never find the hiding spot.
In 1971, I was nine-years-old and I still believed in Santa—actually, I have never stopped believing. This particular Christmas, Santa gave us kid’s new bedroom furniture. My sister and I got matching twin beds with a dresser and nightstand to use in our shared bedroom. My brother got the same for his room. This furniture was set up and waiting in our rooms when we came home from Granny Devine’s house on Christmas Eve. We also each had a beautiful new bedspread with curtains to match. This was a big deal for me, because up to this point, my sister and I shared a full size bed. Now I had a bed of my own. I thought Santa was full of magic that year, but I kept wondering why Granny Devine came home with us that night, because this was something she never did. It was years later I learned Granny had made the bedspread and curtains, and she wanted to be there to see our faces. I’m sure she was happy with our excitement. In addition to the bedspread and curtains, she had also made each of us a bathrobe and crotched my sister and me a pair of house slippers.
It is better to give than to receive—how many times have we heard, or said, that very thing? Of course, as children, we wanted everything in sight—the latest toy or game or doll. As adults, our priorities change, especially after we have children of our own, after all, Christmas is for children.
Still, everyone has memories of that special Christmas when we wanted, and probably received, one special item we dreamed about for months. For me, it was the Christmas of 1973 and I was 11-years-old, not yet a teenager, but definitely not a child, or at least that is what I thought. This particular year I asked for roller skates like the older kids had, a stuffed turtle with a denim shell, and the brand new Hudson Brothers album. The Hudson Brothers has a Saturday morning television show I was absolutely in love with. I never missed an episode, even going so far as to tape the shows on my audio tape recorder. What I wouldn’t have give if VCR technology was available back then. Anyway, that Christmas I did receive everything I asked for, but I am sure my parents had a hard time finding the Hudson Brothers album; after all, they weren’t a very popular band. Believe it or not, I still have that album after 30 years. My own kids think I’m crazy.
Over the years I have received many wonderful gifts, but as I get older, I get more joy out of give the perfect gift, especially to my children. I remember hunting for He-Man and She-Ra items, Teddy Roping, talking Big Bird, Strawberry Shortcake, My Little Pony and Barney. I have shopped for the latest CDs from Korn, Nine-Inch Nails, and Nirvana, as well as Britney Spears and Aaron Carter. Every year presents from “Mom and Dad” are wrapped in a wide variety of papers, but gifts from “Santa” are all wrapped in the same identical paper, lovingly wrapped by elves.
We all know Christmas is not all about presents, but when you have children, gifts play a major role in the holidays. Even though you try to teach your children that it is better to give than to receive, it is hard for them to see past all the commercialization. Let’s face it, at Christmas time; advertisements are aimed straight for our kids.
Christmas will take on a new meaning in 2001, because of the War on Terror still raging over seas. This year children will still be receiving that one special gift, but maybe they will receive something even more precious. Even though it will not fit in a Christmas stocking, we are all blessed with the preservation of America’s freedom and the unification of the American people.
Merry Christmas and God bless us all.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, December 2001
Friday, September 28, 2001
Granny Sallee
In Loving Memory of
Lura Becham Carter Sallee
My Granny Salle was a wonderful person. She worked hard all of her life, raising nine children and farming. She and my grandfather survived the early deaths of two sons and a grandson before their time. Granny survived losing her husband of 65 years. She survived leaving rural life for a small house in town, and she lived long enough to celebrate her 90th birthday with a party and family reunion.
Even though my Granny was hard of hearing for as long as I can remember, she did have a way with words. “Don’t you think you could take off a little weight?” This was a favorite question for me. Of course, I have fought with my weight all of my adult life, and Granny was always the first to notice any change to my weight. She always seemed to notice if I had “fallen of a bit”, or if I had picked up a few pounds.
Granny Sallee made the most wonderful homemade biscuits. I can remember in the old family farmhouse, she had a baking cupboard where she kept her flour, sugar and lard. She always mixed her dough by hand, rolled it out with a well-worn rolling pin, and cut perfect circles to place in the oven. In a few minutes, when those fluffy bits of heaven emerged from the oven, the smell would be overwhelming. There was nothing better than Granny’s homemade biscuits smothered with home canned jams or preserves.
Granny was also a pretty good seamstress, be it clothes or quilts. Granny was always working on quilt tops, carefully piecing each block from the remnants of old clothes. I think she managed to make quilts for each of her grandchildren, and she had numerous quilts tops that never quite made it to the quilting frame. I have one of those quilt tops, but my lack of time and sewing skills have kept me from transforming it into a beautiful quilt. I’m leaving that job for my retirement.
Even after Granny and Granddaddy Sallee moved to town, you could not take the country out of them. For years they had a small vegetable garden in their backyard. They both loved fresh tomatoes, green beans, onions and lettuce. You could always find them puttering around out in the garden. Granny loved to can beans and tomatoes, as well as her jams and preserves. I think I got my love of homemade jams and preserves from my Granny Sallee. I don’t can many vegetables from my gardens, but I do use my backyard blackberries, raspberries, grapes and rhubarb to make jam. It is a stress reliever for me, stirring the thickened pulp until it is just the right consistency jam, and then looking at through the crystal clear jars. Jam is a staple of the family Christmas baskets that I fix each year.
Granny Salle was really old-fashioned, like most grandparents, and she wasn’t much for change. I remember when my divorce was finale, I had this little yellow sign in the back window of my car that said, “Ex-husband in trunk”. Now, back in the 1980’s, everyone had those little yellow signs in their rear windows, and I thought mine was funny. Not Granny. Every time I would visit, Granny would make a remark about my sign. It took about five or six times before I became guilty and removed the sign from my car, but Granny didn’t forget it for a very long time. Months later, she was still saying, “I hope you don’t put that sign up again.” And I never did.
Granny loved her family. She always wanted people around to share in her life. She talked to family every day on the phone, and for the people who lived out of state, she wrote the most wonderful letters. She always liked to keep in contact and she never thought any of us visited enough, and I guess we really didn’t. I know that as I got older. I always seemed to have some excused for not visiting more often. I was either working or the kids had somewhere to be or we just had other plans. I guess I just took it for granted that Granny would always be there. In hindsight, I wish I had made the time to visit more often than I did.
In July of 1994, Granny Sallee turned 90, and we celebrated with a family reunion. Almost every single family member managed to make it back home. They came from all over Kentucky, as well as Arizona, Texas and Indiana. To say that Granny was overwhelmed would be an understatement. She spent the biggest part of the day with tears in her eyes. Having her entire family with her was the greatest present we gave her that day. She got lots and lots of pictures to mark the occasion, as well as a memory book. My husband and I got her a blank scrapbook and a cheap package of markers, and we had everyone write a birthday message to Granny. Even the little children drew a picture or a scribble. So not only could Granny look at the pictures of her family, but she would also go back and see what everyone wrote to her. As it turned out, Granny’s 90th birthday was the last time our family has all been together.
Granny passed away the following spring. Her passing was hard on everyone, especially my Dad, because he was the only surviving son. My big girls remember their great grandmother well, but since Christine was only two when Granny died, she will still as questions whenever she sees her picture. As for me, memories of my Granny Sallee will live forever in my heart.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, September 2001
Lura Becham Carter Sallee
My Granny Salle was a wonderful person. She worked hard all of her life, raising nine children and farming. She and my grandfather survived the early deaths of two sons and a grandson before their time. Granny survived losing her husband of 65 years. She survived leaving rural life for a small house in town, and she lived long enough to celebrate her 90th birthday with a party and family reunion.
Even though my Granny was hard of hearing for as long as I can remember, she did have a way with words. “Don’t you think you could take off a little weight?” This was a favorite question for me. Of course, I have fought with my weight all of my adult life, and Granny was always the first to notice any change to my weight. She always seemed to notice if I had “fallen of a bit”, or if I had picked up a few pounds.
Granny Sallee made the most wonderful homemade biscuits. I can remember in the old family farmhouse, she had a baking cupboard where she kept her flour, sugar and lard. She always mixed her dough by hand, rolled it out with a well-worn rolling pin, and cut perfect circles to place in the oven. In a few minutes, when those fluffy bits of heaven emerged from the oven, the smell would be overwhelming. There was nothing better than Granny’s homemade biscuits smothered with home canned jams or preserves.
Granny was also a pretty good seamstress, be it clothes or quilts. Granny was always working on quilt tops, carefully piecing each block from the remnants of old clothes. I think she managed to make quilts for each of her grandchildren, and she had numerous quilts tops that never quite made it to the quilting frame. I have one of those quilt tops, but my lack of time and sewing skills have kept me from transforming it into a beautiful quilt. I’m leaving that job for my retirement.
Even after Granny and Granddaddy Sallee moved to town, you could not take the country out of them. For years they had a small vegetable garden in their backyard. They both loved fresh tomatoes, green beans, onions and lettuce. You could always find them puttering around out in the garden. Granny loved to can beans and tomatoes, as well as her jams and preserves. I think I got my love of homemade jams and preserves from my Granny Sallee. I don’t can many vegetables from my gardens, but I do use my backyard blackberries, raspberries, grapes and rhubarb to make jam. It is a stress reliever for me, stirring the thickened pulp until it is just the right consistency jam, and then looking at through the crystal clear jars. Jam is a staple of the family Christmas baskets that I fix each year.
Granny Salle was really old-fashioned, like most grandparents, and she wasn’t much for change. I remember when my divorce was finale, I had this little yellow sign in the back window of my car that said, “Ex-husband in trunk”. Now, back in the 1980’s, everyone had those little yellow signs in their rear windows, and I thought mine was funny. Not Granny. Every time I would visit, Granny would make a remark about my sign. It took about five or six times before I became guilty and removed the sign from my car, but Granny didn’t forget it for a very long time. Months later, she was still saying, “I hope you don’t put that sign up again.” And I never did.
Granny loved her family. She always wanted people around to share in her life. She talked to family every day on the phone, and for the people who lived out of state, she wrote the most wonderful letters. She always liked to keep in contact and she never thought any of us visited enough, and I guess we really didn’t. I know that as I got older. I always seemed to have some excused for not visiting more often. I was either working or the kids had somewhere to be or we just had other plans. I guess I just took it for granted that Granny would always be there. In hindsight, I wish I had made the time to visit more often than I did.
In July of 1994, Granny Sallee turned 90, and we celebrated with a family reunion. Almost every single family member managed to make it back home. They came from all over Kentucky, as well as Arizona, Texas and Indiana. To say that Granny was overwhelmed would be an understatement. She spent the biggest part of the day with tears in her eyes. Having her entire family with her was the greatest present we gave her that day. She got lots and lots of pictures to mark the occasion, as well as a memory book. My husband and I got her a blank scrapbook and a cheap package of markers, and we had everyone write a birthday message to Granny. Even the little children drew a picture or a scribble. So not only could Granny look at the pictures of her family, but she would also go back and see what everyone wrote to her. As it turned out, Granny’s 90th birthday was the last time our family has all been together.
Granny passed away the following spring. Her passing was hard on everyone, especially my Dad, because he was the only surviving son. My big girls remember their great grandmother well, but since Christine was only two when Granny died, she will still as questions whenever she sees her picture. As for me, memories of my Granny Sallee will live forever in my heart.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, September 2001
Monday, December 18, 2000
Christmas Traditions
I am sure that everyone has traditions which are unique only to the Christmas season, be it going to the parade, opening presents on Christmas morning, or just eating a delicious meal together. My family is just like all of yours, we have many Christmas rituals that have become traditions and it just doesn’t seem like Christmas unless we perform them, I don’t care how old my children are.
I know it may seem like we are rushing the season, but we always put our Christmas tree up on Thanksgiving Day. We look forward to setting up the tree and decorating with as many lights as we can fit on our seven-foot tree. Lights are a man thing, so my husband puts them on because I don’t have the patience to fool with them.
Then comes the fun part, putting on the ornaments. Anyone who knows me knows my family is crazy about Hallmark Christmas ornaments. I have been collecting them for over 25 years, long before I was ever married or had children. I love ALL the different types of ornaments. Everyone in my family has a different series or type of Hallmark ornament we have to get every year, and if a series is ended, then we move on to a new one. The longest running ornament series that Hallmark has is call “Here Comes Santa” and it shows Santa riding all different types of vehicles. The series started in 1979 and I am proud to say that I own all 22 of the current ornaments in the series. My middle daughter—Marie—has all 17 of the current toy house ornaments, and my youngest—Christine—has all ten of the current puppy love ornaments. My oldest—Amber—ended her series a few years ago with the 15th rocking horse. She hasn’t been able to decide on a new series, so we have been buying ones that pertain to her life, like the car ornament we got her the year she turned 16. Of course, my husband collects all the car, truck, and toy vehicle ornaments, plus anything else that strikes his fancy. He has been hooked on my collection since we met in 1986.
Christmas present are a big part of Christmas in today’s modern world. When my husband was young, his parents used to hide presents in the Christmas tree, and this is a tradition we have carried over into our lives. Christine loves to hid presents in the Christmas trees, going as far as to hiding a few presents in this year’s Girl Scout tree at the Old Fort Museum. The only problem with presents in the tree is, sometimes, presents get overlooked. We always leave our tree up until after the New Year, and there have been a few times we have found a cleverly hidden present in the tree as we take the ornaments off. What a surprise for the giver and the recipient!
Our Christmas Eve starts with a buffet meal at my parent’s house. We always try to eat at 4:00, because the kids are so anxious to open gifts. They hate it because we make them wait until after the dishes are done before they can tear into their packages. No one can open a gift until everyone has one. Then it is a free-for-all as paper goes flying in all directions. The house always looks like a tornado touched down. After the great clean up and some bonding time, my family heads to Christmas Eve services at church. Harrodsburg Baptist Church always has a candlelight Lord’s Supper on Christmas Eve. This is a wonderful way to observe the true meaning of the season, especially if you have children. For children, it is hard to see beyond the presents, but a quiet religious ceremony can speak to a child’s heart. After church, we will sometimes ride through the neighborhoods to look at all the Christmas lights.
Once home on Christmas Eve, it is time for the youngest to go to bed, but first we have to set up Santa’s treats. Christine is always in charge of the nativity scene and this is where she sets up the treats for Santa and his reindeer. Every year we have cookies and Mountain Dew for Santa, carrots for the reindeer—nine sticks because of Rudolph—and a piece of birthday cake for Baby Jesus. Christine has to light the birthday candle and we sing Happy Birthday to the Baby Jesus. Then Christine goes outside with the magic reindeer food and sprinkles it on the lawn. For those grown-ups who don’t know what magic reindeer food is, it is dry oatmeal mixed with a small amount of glitter that your children can sprinkle on the ground so the reindeer do not miss their house. Of course, after the children are asleep, then Santa can arrive, and just before he leaves our house, he kisses each child on the cheek, and his magic lips leave a kiss mark that is still visible when the children wake in the morning. My oldest girls have long outgrown this tradition, and I just hope it is a few more years before Christine realized that Santa’s magic lips match the shade of lipstick that Mommy wears.
We always open our presents on Christmas morning, one at a time. Someone different plays Santa every year and gives out presents. Paper and ribbon are thrown everywhere, packages and instructions are never where you need them to be, and there is always something that Santa forgot to bring batteries for. After Christmas morning breakfast, we all scatter like the wind. My husband and I along with Christine head to my mother-in-law’s house, and Amber and Marie, being the teenagers they are, head to other family and friends homes.
I know it seems like we concentrate more on the material aspects of Christmas, but with children it is sometimes hard not to. I think my teenage girls are connecting more with the religious side of Christmas as they get older; I guess we all so as we get older. The old saying “Christmas is for children”, will always ring true as long as we have children in the world.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, December 2000
I know it may seem like we are rushing the season, but we always put our Christmas tree up on Thanksgiving Day. We look forward to setting up the tree and decorating with as many lights as we can fit on our seven-foot tree. Lights are a man thing, so my husband puts them on because I don’t have the patience to fool with them.
Then comes the fun part, putting on the ornaments. Anyone who knows me knows my family is crazy about Hallmark Christmas ornaments. I have been collecting them for over 25 years, long before I was ever married or had children. I love ALL the different types of ornaments. Everyone in my family has a different series or type of Hallmark ornament we have to get every year, and if a series is ended, then we move on to a new one. The longest running ornament series that Hallmark has is call “Here Comes Santa” and it shows Santa riding all different types of vehicles. The series started in 1979 and I am proud to say that I own all 22 of the current ornaments in the series. My middle daughter—Marie—has all 17 of the current toy house ornaments, and my youngest—Christine—has all ten of the current puppy love ornaments. My oldest—Amber—ended her series a few years ago with the 15th rocking horse. She hasn’t been able to decide on a new series, so we have been buying ones that pertain to her life, like the car ornament we got her the year she turned 16. Of course, my husband collects all the car, truck, and toy vehicle ornaments, plus anything else that strikes his fancy. He has been hooked on my collection since we met in 1986.
Christmas present are a big part of Christmas in today’s modern world. When my husband was young, his parents used to hide presents in the Christmas tree, and this is a tradition we have carried over into our lives. Christine loves to hid presents in the Christmas trees, going as far as to hiding a few presents in this year’s Girl Scout tree at the Old Fort Museum. The only problem with presents in the tree is, sometimes, presents get overlooked. We always leave our tree up until after the New Year, and there have been a few times we have found a cleverly hidden present in the tree as we take the ornaments off. What a surprise for the giver and the recipient!
Our Christmas Eve starts with a buffet meal at my parent’s house. We always try to eat at 4:00, because the kids are so anxious to open gifts. They hate it because we make them wait until after the dishes are done before they can tear into their packages. No one can open a gift until everyone has one. Then it is a free-for-all as paper goes flying in all directions. The house always looks like a tornado touched down. After the great clean up and some bonding time, my family heads to Christmas Eve services at church. Harrodsburg Baptist Church always has a candlelight Lord’s Supper on Christmas Eve. This is a wonderful way to observe the true meaning of the season, especially if you have children. For children, it is hard to see beyond the presents, but a quiet religious ceremony can speak to a child’s heart. After church, we will sometimes ride through the neighborhoods to look at all the Christmas lights.
Once home on Christmas Eve, it is time for the youngest to go to bed, but first we have to set up Santa’s treats. Christine is always in charge of the nativity scene and this is where she sets up the treats for Santa and his reindeer. Every year we have cookies and Mountain Dew for Santa, carrots for the reindeer—nine sticks because of Rudolph—and a piece of birthday cake for Baby Jesus. Christine has to light the birthday candle and we sing Happy Birthday to the Baby Jesus. Then Christine goes outside with the magic reindeer food and sprinkles it on the lawn. For those grown-ups who don’t know what magic reindeer food is, it is dry oatmeal mixed with a small amount of glitter that your children can sprinkle on the ground so the reindeer do not miss their house. Of course, after the children are asleep, then Santa can arrive, and just before he leaves our house, he kisses each child on the cheek, and his magic lips leave a kiss mark that is still visible when the children wake in the morning. My oldest girls have long outgrown this tradition, and I just hope it is a few more years before Christine realized that Santa’s magic lips match the shade of lipstick that Mommy wears.
We always open our presents on Christmas morning, one at a time. Someone different plays Santa every year and gives out presents. Paper and ribbon are thrown everywhere, packages and instructions are never where you need them to be, and there is always something that Santa forgot to bring batteries for. After Christmas morning breakfast, we all scatter like the wind. My husband and I along with Christine head to my mother-in-law’s house, and Amber and Marie, being the teenagers they are, head to other family and friends homes.
I know it seems like we concentrate more on the material aspects of Christmas, but with children it is sometimes hard not to. I think my teenage girls are connecting more with the religious side of Christmas as they get older; I guess we all so as we get older. The old saying “Christmas is for children”, will always ring true as long as we have children in the world.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, December 2000
Wednesday, December 8, 1999
The China Doll
Christmas at Granny Devine’s house was a magical time for me when I was a child. Our close knit family always gathered in her tiny home to celebrate the wonderful holiday season. This was the time that I looked forward to all year long.
Granny’s house was very tiny, only two bedroom, a kitchen and a living room. Sometimes we felt like sardines packed into crowded quarters, but no one seemed to mind. The adults situated themselves on the couch while the children gathered around on the floor. The house was so quaint and cozy that I always felt like I could stay there forever. Fluffy pillow adorned the couch, along with numerous hand crocheted Afghans. On the plain cherry table lay a cherished black Bible, its edges bent and worn from loving use. Beloved photos of numerous children and grandchildren peered down from the plaster walls.
Before artificial trees became widely used, Granny always had a real Christmas tree. I can still remember the fresh, green Norfolk pin tree standing in the corner, its branches smelling like the great outdoors. The needles always tickled my nose when I brushed close to them. Each branch was decorated with the festive wear of the holiday season; red, blue, green and yellow lights sparkling. Hand crafted ornaments loaded the tree…crocheted angels, beadwork orbs, and quilted squares. Glittering tinsel swayed with the gentle movement of everyone inside the house.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, dong-ding-dong-ding…the faithful wall clock announced the dinner hour. Everyone stepped across the creaky floor furnace to enter the teeny kitchen. The enticing aroma of the golden, glazed turkey reached our noses. The whirring of the mixer sounded as the dreamy mashed potatoes were fluffed with mounds of golden butter. Caramelized marshmallows topped the delectable candied yams, and the mouth-watering fruit cried out from the ambrosia salad. Oysters sizzled in their sauce of butter, milk and cracker crumbs as Granny took them out of her old gas oven. The oysters were my favorite part of the meal, and my own mother still fixes them just for me every year. The sweet fragrance of Granny’s homemade stuffing wafted through the entire house…yummy! There will never be another food that signals the beginning the holiday like Granny’s stuffing.
A handmade, Christmas cross-stitched tablecloth always covered the wooden table. Four chair and two stools were settled around the table for the adults to eat from, and the children were relegated to the living room coffee table. I can still remember the sharp corners of that table when I would accidentally run into them. After everyone was settle and a prayer of thanks given, the great passage of food platt34ers began. Clink, clatter, clink…each person heaped their plate to overflowing.
At the conclusion of the scrumptious meal the men r3etired to the living room and the great clean up began. The anticipation of opening the vast number of Christmas presents was overwhelming to us kids, but it was tradition to wait until the dishes were done before the first gift could be opened finally; Granny, Aunt Ginny Ann and my Mom finished the dishes and joined the rest of us in the living room.
My most memorable Christmas at my Granny’s began with my Aunt handing out presents to me and my brother and sister I was around eight or nine years old and I couldn’t wait to tear into my package, but as usual, we had to wait until everyone had a present before we could open anything. Ready, set, go…away we went, ripping the paper and ribbons. I loved all my presents, but this year held a delightful surprise. Granny had given me a china doll…my very first china doll. She was so beautiful with black hair on top of her creamy porcelain face. She had blue eyes, just like mine, and pink rosy cheeks. Her dress was pink with tiny white polka dots and she had a matching bonnet on her head. She even had a crinoline skirt and petticoat underneath her dress. I was ecstatic! It was such a grown up present and I was so happy that my Granny thought I was old enough to have my first china doll.
When the present were all finally opened and the wrapping and ribbons cleaned up, the kids watched television while the adults talked. This particular year, I took a long hot bubble bath in Granny’s miniature bathroom and changed into the new pajamas my Aunt had given me. I was all ready to go home to bed so I could wait for Old Saint Nick.
That was 1970 or 71, but I can still remember the excitement of that Christmas Eve. Rushing my parents home so I could jump into bed, listening to every creak of the house, just know that Santa would arrive at any minute. As for my china doll, Miss Betsy, she is still one of most treasured possessions. She holds a place of honor in my glass cabinet where I can glance at her every day. All three of my daughters have several china dolls apiece, but they don’t care for dolls as much as I do. My dolls are a significant part of my heritage and, although I have had many china dolls since Miss Betsy, none will ever remind me of Christmas, or my Granny Devine, like this one special doll.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, December 1999
Granny’s house was very tiny, only two bedroom, a kitchen and a living room. Sometimes we felt like sardines packed into crowded quarters, but no one seemed to mind. The adults situated themselves on the couch while the children gathered around on the floor. The house was so quaint and cozy that I always felt like I could stay there forever. Fluffy pillow adorned the couch, along with numerous hand crocheted Afghans. On the plain cherry table lay a cherished black Bible, its edges bent and worn from loving use. Beloved photos of numerous children and grandchildren peered down from the plaster walls.
Before artificial trees became widely used, Granny always had a real Christmas tree. I can still remember the fresh, green Norfolk pin tree standing in the corner, its branches smelling like the great outdoors. The needles always tickled my nose when I brushed close to them. Each branch was decorated with the festive wear of the holiday season; red, blue, green and yellow lights sparkling. Hand crafted ornaments loaded the tree…crocheted angels, beadwork orbs, and quilted squares. Glittering tinsel swayed with the gentle movement of everyone inside the house.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, dong-ding-dong-ding…the faithful wall clock announced the dinner hour. Everyone stepped across the creaky floor furnace to enter the teeny kitchen. The enticing aroma of the golden, glazed turkey reached our noses. The whirring of the mixer sounded as the dreamy mashed potatoes were fluffed with mounds of golden butter. Caramelized marshmallows topped the delectable candied yams, and the mouth-watering fruit cried out from the ambrosia salad. Oysters sizzled in their sauce of butter, milk and cracker crumbs as Granny took them out of her old gas oven. The oysters were my favorite part of the meal, and my own mother still fixes them just for me every year. The sweet fragrance of Granny’s homemade stuffing wafted through the entire house…yummy! There will never be another food that signals the beginning the holiday like Granny’s stuffing.
A handmade, Christmas cross-stitched tablecloth always covered the wooden table. Four chair and two stools were settled around the table for the adults to eat from, and the children were relegated to the living room coffee table. I can still remember the sharp corners of that table when I would accidentally run into them. After everyone was settle and a prayer of thanks given, the great passage of food platt34ers began. Clink, clatter, clink…each person heaped their plate to overflowing.
At the conclusion of the scrumptious meal the men r3etired to the living room and the great clean up began. The anticipation of opening the vast number of Christmas presents was overwhelming to us kids, but it was tradition to wait until the dishes were done before the first gift could be opened finally; Granny, Aunt Ginny Ann and my Mom finished the dishes and joined the rest of us in the living room.
My most memorable Christmas at my Granny’s began with my Aunt handing out presents to me and my brother and sister I was around eight or nine years old and I couldn’t wait to tear into my package, but as usual, we had to wait until everyone had a present before we could open anything. Ready, set, go…away we went, ripping the paper and ribbons. I loved all my presents, but this year held a delightful surprise. Granny had given me a china doll…my very first china doll. She was so beautiful with black hair on top of her creamy porcelain face. She had blue eyes, just like mine, and pink rosy cheeks. Her dress was pink with tiny white polka dots and she had a matching bonnet on her head. She even had a crinoline skirt and petticoat underneath her dress. I was ecstatic! It was such a grown up present and I was so happy that my Granny thought I was old enough to have my first china doll.
When the present were all finally opened and the wrapping and ribbons cleaned up, the kids watched television while the adults talked. This particular year, I took a long hot bubble bath in Granny’s miniature bathroom and changed into the new pajamas my Aunt had given me. I was all ready to go home to bed so I could wait for Old Saint Nick.
That was 1970 or 71, but I can still remember the excitement of that Christmas Eve. Rushing my parents home so I could jump into bed, listening to every creak of the house, just know that Santa would arrive at any minute. As for my china doll, Miss Betsy, she is still one of most treasured possessions. She holds a place of honor in my glass cabinet where I can glance at her every day. All three of my daughters have several china dolls apiece, but they don’t care for dolls as much as I do. My dolls are a significant part of my heritage and, although I have had many china dolls since Miss Betsy, none will ever remind me of Christmas, or my Granny Devine, like this one special doll.
© Bobbi Rightmyer, December 1999
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