A short but sweet tradition
It's the '50s. Mother would trade a box of cards she sold for our Christmas tree. We'd walk home from school to find it decorated in the corner taking up much of the 9-by-12 living room in rural Vallejo. There were bird feet straddling tree limbs and star reflectors for the large colored lights. Cotton tufts were the snow. One year, my younger sister and I got cars we could pedal around the yard - one was a fire engine. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and calling out to see if we could open presents. She finally let us,
and I know it was still way early. My dilemma was how Santa would get in with no fireplace. Brick cardboard was placed near the floor heater, and I was assured he would find a way in. I knew Mother for 16 Christmases.
Olivetta Chavez
It's the '50s. Mother would trade a box of cards she sold for our Christmas tree. We'd walk home from school to find it decorated in the corner taking up much of the 9-by-12 living room in rural Vallejo. There were bird feet straddling tree limbs and star reflectors for the large colored lights. Cotton tufts were the snow. One year, my younger sister and I got cars we could pedal around the yard - one was a fire engine. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and calling out to see if we could open presents. She finally let us,
and I know it was still way early. My dilemma was how Santa would get in with no fireplace. Brick cardboard was placed near the floor heater, and I was assured he would find a way in. I knew Mother for 16 Christmases.
Olivetta Chavez
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