I'm sitting with the longstanding Literary Society, the core of which includes a lumberjack and a cowboy, and, as usual, I laugh at their levity and smile at their slapstick.  I listen to their old familiar phrases, such as "lads and lassies" and "far be it for me to criticize," and I feel to home.
We don't run out of conversation, and we give each other advice, most of which is left at the door.  But today, lads and lassies, 'tis the Christmas season and far be it for me to criticize at Christmas time, so when the cowboy advises that I write about my childhood Christmas memories, I walk out the door this time with it under my hat.
Funny how pictures come to mind once a topic is chosen ...
I see crowds of moms and dads and kids in the church basement of St. Eloi in Ghent, Minnesota.  We've come to see Santa Claus and tell him what we want for Christmas.  Santa is big and red and white, and he is real because the world only has one Santa.  Those other ones over in Marshall must be his helpers.
After we talk to Santa we each get a little brown paper bag stuffed mostly with salted in the shell peanuts, but also some curly hard candy and red hard candy with jelly in the middle.  At the bottom are some fancy nuts called filberts and pecans and Brazil nuts.  My parents use their special tools to crack open the shells.
I see myself questioning how Santa can possibly remember what everyone wants for Christmas when he's not taking any notes.  But I don't ask too many questions and I give him the pictures I cut out of the J.C. Penney's catalog so he won't be confused.
I see our home on the farm and all of its windows, especially the ones in the dining room because that's where Santa can peek in the easiest to see if I am being naughty or nice.  From those windows he can also see into the kitchen, so whenever I am in the dining room or kitchen I make sure I am being very very nice.
I see Mom making Belgian cookies, one a time, on a Belgian cookie iron.  It takes forever.  She doesn't mind if we sample the cookie dough.  It is soft and sweet and good.  The real cookies are thin and crunchy.  Mom likes the cookie dough, too.
I see a lot of people in our house having food and drinks and talking and laughing, most of them in the kitchen.  Then there are knocks on the windows and some of the kids are scared and they cry.  But I run to the windows and look for reindeer tracks in the snow.  I run upstairs and listen for activity on the roof.  I see a sleigh at the end of the driveway.  I know it's a sleigh and I know just who it is knocking on our windows!  I hope he catches me being very good.
I see my dad lying on the cold hard ground under the car, in the snow, in the dark, with a blowtorch, trying to warm up the engine so it'll turn over.  We don't have a garage.  The car sits in front of our front door.  Finally it starts, and soon it's warm enough for Mom and us kids to trail from the house through the stillness of the icy night and pack ourselves inside of it.  Midnight Mass begins at midnight and we will be on time for the Christmas carols.  The yard light on the farm makes all the sprinkles of snow glisten as in Terry Redlin paintings. 
I see the church is full of big people wearing big coats and big hats and I can't see around them nor above them, not even when I stand on the kneelers.  The church is big and the pews are so long they can hold one whole family.  We sit in the third pew from the back because the second pew from the back is already taken.  As hard I as I try to keep my eyes open the whole time, they go to sleep in the middle.
I see that Mass is over and most of the people are gone now, and we get to walk up to the very front of church by ourselves, to the manger.  There are trees and lights and it smells good.  We place our pennies in the dish for Baby Jesus and we whisper Happy Birthday to Him.  Everything is very quiet and pretty.
I see three little girls at home snuggled in the same bed upstairs under big quilts and a chenille bedspread that keeps us all together when it's tucked in around the edges.  We are asleep before our heads hit the pillows.  It is very warm except our noses are cool.
I see the little girls chase downstairs in the morning to find their own pair of shoes set neatly by the couch.  Next to the shoes are little baby dolls and doll bottles and doll clothes and a doll buggy and tiny kitchen cupboards and matching dishes.  We feed our babies immediately and they wet all over the place. 
I see a big turkey at Grandma's house and lots of mashed potatoes and gravy and stuffing and so many uncles and aunts and cousins.  Grandma's table has enough leaves that it extends into her living room.  The kids eat first.  Then the big people eat.  We are stuffed.  We are full and sleepy.
I see myself glad to be back at our own home with our new toys and new pajamas with the rubber bottomed feet in them.  We lie on the floor in the living room next to each other and put our feet up against the stove to feel the heat.  We hold our baby dolls close to us.
I see our Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, the most beautiful tree in the whole world with big colorful lights and tinsel hanging nice and straight.  Dad is stretched out on the couch watching television with his eyes closed.  Mom is giving her real baby a bath.
So there you have it, cowboy and lumberjack, my childhood Christmas!  As I grow out of childhood, my four baby brothers become integral to the memories.  Now I see a big rocking horse and cow-boy boots and cap guns and holster sets and Lincoln logs and tiny green tractors hitched to grain wagons ...
Funny how pictures come to mind once a topic is chosen.  I chose Christmas!  It feels like home.  How about you?
                                                                     -- Love, Sue