Members of our writers’ group were asked to write our favorite Christmas memory. I had to think long and hard. It wasn’t singing songs around the piano on Christmas Eve. It wasn’t receiving a favorite gift. The memory that still warms my heart was doing something special for someone else.
A Christmas I vividly remember happened in December 1979, our over-the-top, Currier and Ives Christmas card ice skating party. Months before, my Sweet Al and I gathered ice skates. People dug them out of attics and basements and were glad to give them to us, not to be returned. We ended up with 40 pairs of ice skates in all sizes.
I announced to my teenage Sunday school class that the young ladies were to dress in 1900s attire — long dresses, with long underwear to stay warm. The young men were to wear knickers. Cut-off britches were appropriate with long, wool stockings to cover their bare legs. “Wear your muffs and mittens with knitted caps to stay warm.” I experienced a little pushback, but the kids came through.
Our guest list included the teens and parents of the families of Pagosa — the Aldridge girls, Davidsons, Johnsons and Marcus boys, the Hyde children, Paul Hudson, Laura Engells, Frosty Lattin, Tracy Day, Danielle Kimsey and our four Slade children — more than 50 guests, many I can’t remember to name.
Al cleared the pond, which was frozen solid under 4 feet of snow. He cleaned off a path from the house to the big waterhole. We placed old-fashion glass lanterns along the 5-foot clearing so we could pull a sled carrying a Victrola phonograph with 78 rpm records.
The guests drove on the snowy road to the Lower Blanco, where they were greeted with hot chocolate and cider. They picked their size of ice skates or brought their own. They walked the lighted path to the pond, where music from the cranked-up phonograph was heard: “Bird in A Gilded Cage,” “By the Light of the Silvery Moon” and many others.
The teenagers skated under the midnight blue sky full of twinkling stars, falling, teasing and darting around their friends. Even a couple lovers held hands and felt the romance in the air. The parents with lap blankets sat on logs along the side of the skating rink or by the bonfire that crackled and popped. Not a photo was taken that night to tuck away in a photo album, but my mind has kept this vivid picture fresh for 46 years.
Tired and cold guests returned to the house where we served them chili beans, cornbread and old-fashioned desserts. As they left that evening, they carried a silver-bladed-black-felt ice skate, 5 inches in size. More than just a token of the evening, they carried a memory of a Currier and Ives ice-skating party.
Many years later, I received an old clipping of a newspaper article from Jace Johnson about that special evening. He had saved it all those years. When I’ve talked with Jace over the years, he has told me he has never forgotten the fun they had. It was one of his favorite memories of growing up in Pagosa. Mine, too.
I didn’t think about the memories these families would carry with them. I just wanted the teenage kids to know they hadn’t missed out being raised in our small town where not much was happening. They were being raised in these backwoods, high in the mountains, and lived far from the city lights and stores.
For Christmas, we made homemade gifts and exchanged beautiful hand-sewn articles of clothing. I even made a doll for Angel. Her name was Sarah Jane, with the stitched eyes and red cheeks. I made a wardrobe of doll clothes which Angel still has today. She has said many times that Sarah Jane was the most favorite gift she had ever received. It still brings back memories to her.
We were living life in small ways, not thinking we were making big memories for our children and their friends. Those memories have given them their roots, that place where they felt safe and loved.
Final brushstrokes: Someone will say, “Remember when …” That when my heart boils over with joy that they remembered. Memories are funny things. They have the ability to bind people together and bring the past into the present. Don’t let the light go out on your fond memories; they keep us young at heart. They give us an assurance that our lives mean more to others than we realize. Keep making memories.
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