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The year was 1955. Due to the nature of my father’s work, we moved often and at that time, New Jersey was
our home. Nevertheless, as the holidays drew near, an irrepressible urge sent us packing like a band of
gypsies, going in the direction of our kinfolk and Hoosick Falls, New York.
We were ramming along the New York State Thruway, coursing through an unavoidable toll booth when horns
sounded, headlights flashed and hands waved in our direction. Smoke flanked the hood of our Packard and shot in all directions. My father drew the car to the side of the road and led us from the inferno.
Spotting our dilemma from his booth an attendant rushed to the scene with a fire extinguisher and put
the blaze out. The engine was damaged so badly that the car had to be towed to a garage in the nearest town,
Coxsackie, New York.
From then on the holidays would be a dirge or so I thought in my muddled, eleven year old mind. I felt so
joyless and unhappy, Christmas being the ultimate joy of my young life.
“Be thankful we are all in one piece Odette,” Mama said. “Out of every bad situation comes
some good.” She squeezed my hand consolingly and kissed tears off my cheek.
Dad made arrangements to leave the Packard at a small garage in Coxsackie and after moments of deliberation
with mama to decide whether or not we should continue on with our journey, we climbed aboard a westbound
bus. My sister, Anna, brother, Andrew, and I, were allowed to take two parcels from the gifts stacked in
the wreck of a car. Clutching our sooty packages, we collapsed onto the cold vinyl seats of a large, empty
coach.
I sat alone, beside a frosty window and peered forlornly into a star-spilled night. A perfect yellow
moon had formed, illuminating the beautiful, blanketed white northern landscape. As the bus launched into its
rhythm, the gray-capped, pleasant faced driver tuned in the radio. Christmas songs emanated forth and I
hummed along with each melodious chord. Soon I sang jubilantly aloud, tapping my toes on the seat in front
of me. The voices of my family and the bus driver’s voice were intermingled with my ebullient caroling.
Blessedly, the true essence of Christmas had re-entered my life.
The bus rolled into Hoosick Falls at eleven pm and stopped before a gleaming drugstore terminal.
Stiff-necked and tired, the five of us clambered out onto the white, frozen g round and went inside. A
white haired gent who resembled Santa Claus lumbered towards us and gave us a greeting; “Merry Christmas!”
My father’s response was mellow. He was disappointed since Grandpa Burke was nowhere in sight. With no
other alternative, he called Grandma and learned that Grandpa had left the house an hour early so he would
meet us at the terminal when we arrived.
“Wait one minute ‘ere lad,” spoke the old-timer, perceiving our dilemma. “I betcha I know what ‘appened
to him.” Jostling through the pack of us, he approached my father and extended a plump hand. He
said, “let me ‘ave that contraption.” He referred to the telephone.
Reassuring Grandma everything was all right, yet questioning ‘what went wrong’ in his own mind, Dad
handed ‘Santa’ the telephone receiver. With a slowness viable to the old man’s nature, he dialed a number.
“Ed, Jebediah ‘ere! Ya got a fella waiting for someone at your place?”
“A stocky little man with a gray crewcut and tan jacket,” prompted Dad. “Most likely wearing
earmuffs," he added. ‘Santa Claus’ gave a nod and placed a finger aside of
his nose. There was a slight pause before he exclaimed, “send him over here. His folks are waiting for him.”
As it so happened, Grandpa was waiting at the terminal in East Hoosick, five miles down the road.
And when the bus arrived without his family on board, he too became anxious. At the time he received news of
us, he was deliberating whether or not to call and alarm Grandma.
What a wonderful reunion we had! Christmas was spent in the decked out old homestead of Grandma and Grandpa
Burke where a savory Christmas dinner and the warm reception of aunts, uncles, cousins and old friends
was held. Gifts were bestowed upon us. Our spirits were dampened by the fact we had nothing to give but a
promise we would send gifts to everyone as soon as
possible.
Little Anna received a princess doll, one baby bundles doll and an assortment of castle blocks. Eight
year old Andrew was given an electric train, a priceless relic passed on to each boy in the Burke
family. He and Dad set to the task of putting it together and setting it in motion.
“Odette, this is for you.” Grandma Burke spoke softly and presented me with a tiny box, decorated with
festive red and silver paper and a gold ribbon. I ripped open the wrappings and removed the small cover,
taking possession of a beautiful antique pearl ring which belonged to my great, great grandmother
Ottilia. I slipped the ring on my finger and in the next instant jumped up and hugged Grandma and Grandpa to
me. Words could not express how I felt at that moment. Dad winked at Momma and exclaimed, “Isn’t this a
pearl of a Christmas!”
I live at Babcock Lake in the Grafton Mountains near
Petersburgh, New York. I devote time to my family, writing and community work. I enjoy reading, skiing, golfing, swimming, exercising and traveling. I have a vast number of poetry/haiku, numerous
articles and short stories published in many small press magazines and a variety of newspapers. I have
won many poetry awards and have two books in print, Melrose, Then and Now, a historical volume and I
Passed This Way, containing poetry.
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