In stressful times like now, it’s a great escape to reflect on holiday celebrations from the past. For the Moeller family, a Christmas tree was always a necessity and it had to be one that was formerly a live tree — Douglas fir, of course, and as close to 5 or 6 feet high as could be found. Thankfully, plastic ones hadn’t been invented yet.
It’s hard to believe today, but in those days there were still places in or near Tacoma that — after having been completely logged off — had been re-seeded by nature. We lived on South 12th Street, two blocks past the end of paved streets and only three more blocks from the end of the streetcar line. Yes, streetcars. Between there and, say, Fircrest, there was nothing but stumps and a few young trees that, somehow, were reseeded. Today that nearly barren land is covered with homes, stores, businesses and the sprawling campus of Tacoma Community College.
So we always had a freshly-cut tree and we decorated it each year with the same family ornaments — recycled tinsel that we carefully saved from the previous year — remember, those were the 1930s, and those pesky strings of lights that went completely blank if one of the bulbs burned out. If you remember using those — while thinking some unspoken, unseasonal profanity in the process — you’ve most likely been collecting your Social Security for some time now.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned before in the more than 12 years I’ve been writing this column that Christmas Eve at our Lutheran church was always set aside for the children’s performance as they each repeated a line or two from Saint Luke’s description of the Nativity. At least one of the younger children would forget his or her lines and start to cry. Parents tried to soothe them by saying it didn’t matter but, to the child, it mattered more than anything at that moment.
I’ve always thought that the shepherds wouldn’t have been gathered in open fields on the 25th of any December. They’d have been gathered near a fireplace while the sheep would have been eating the hay that had been harvested during the summer and fall, leaving nothing but short stubble in those fields. But a look at my outdated world globe tells me that Bethlehem is a little bit south of San Francisco. St. Luke doesn’t say it was in winter.
It’s been noted that the serfs and other lower classes of people customarily gathered near the end of the year in a free-for-all bacchanalian event where “anything went.” I think it was called “Saturnalia.” It’s been proposed that the leaders of the early church used the birth of Jesus, whether it was actually at that time of year or not, to supplant such behavior.
Be all that as it may, it’s a time to be with loved ones and I hope each one of you will partake of the opportunity.
But there’s one other thing on the agenda, selecting the person who sent in the winning conclusion to the sentence, “You know you’re getting older when...” Twelve people submitted 39 entries. Some were humorous, some dwelt in local history but the winning entry contained a message that made this writer feel warm as it was read. It was sent in by Janet Graham of Centralia and it said, “You know you’re getting older when you have traveled through decades of memories.” When I delivered the winner’s prize to her last Sunday (after the Seahawk game was over, of course), she said the phrase came to her as she was reading in bed, after which she went to sleep, woke up again at 4 o’clock and wrote it down so she wouldn’t forget it. I’m glad she did. Congratulations, Janet, and thanks to the 11 others who sent their own suggestions.
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Bill Moeller is a former entertainer, mayor, bookstore owner, city council member, paratrooper and pilot living in Centralia. He can be reached at bookmaven321@comcast.net.
