My fondest memories of Christmas as a child had nothing to do with gifts or places we went, but rather with Christmas cards. My mother had three brothers, but her mother was one of eleven kids. Since Grannie was the oldest, all but 3 of her siblings were younger than her. Some she even helped raise. All of my great aunts and uncles were more like the were my mother's siblings. And... they all lived in Washington State. We only saw them once a year and for Christmas we were on our own.
In that stack of Christmas cards were my Christmas family visits. My mother would read them and the put them in a basket. The first thing I did when I got home from school was to grab the basket and start reading through all the cards. They had news of cousins, school pictures, family pictures and stories of the adventures of the past year. Each one I read, I imagined their snowy houses and thought for sure they must go places in a sleigh on occasion.
We didn't talk on the phone much because it was long distance and much more expensive than today. The only long distance calls we could afford were those to my grandparents. To make the call we dialed the operator, then she would ask what area code we wanted to call. She would click click click and then say "I have Area Code 509, what is the number?" The number would be a name and number like WESTMORE 5-9797. There would be more clicking and finally an answer. Then Mom would say, "Do we have a good connection? Can you hear me?" The conversation would start. Mom would always complain that when she called Grannie and Papa, they wanted to talk forever but when they called us, they kept it short. And that was why the cards were so special.
I dreamed every time a read a card, of living in Washington with the mountains and snow. It seems like a fantasy land where Christmas must be like a story book. Once Grannie sent me picture looking out her front window. The snowplows would pile the snow in the middle of her street, and in this particular picture, it was piled so high she could not see the house across the street. I couldn't even imagine snow, much less that much of it.
As it got closer to Christmas the basket got fuller. Mom would take the cards we had gotten first and nestle them in the branches of the tree like an ornament. There were a few I would always keep at the top of the stack, so I could read them over again. The notes made it seem like family was just down the street. I would almost forget until I walked out into the balmy 80 degree humid coastal air.
When Christmas got to only a few days away our tree was full of beautiful cards. I knew just by looking at them who had sent them. The tree and decorations would come down after New Years but the cards would go back into the basket and stay out a bit longer. It wasn't unusual to come in from school and find my mom reading through the cards again too.
As I grew older I began to realize I felt much closer to all those cousins, aunts and uncles than they ever felt to me. They saw each other every week or so. Being so far away we were pretty much forgotten, until our summer visits. To me however, it was as if they visited our house each year at Christmas. My memories of those people are still cherished in my heart, a special part of of my childhood Christmas memories.
