Holiday Short Story - Creative Non-Fiction

We're excited to share the stories that have been submitted for our Holiday edition of the Writes of Winter contest! We received five submissions:

Mohawk - Judy Brownlee

Frost and Festivities - Catherine Neale Ward

Magic in the Tree Lot - Janice Duffy

Christmas Catalogues - Lauranne Hemmingway



Mohawk

by Judy Brownlee

It was Christmas Eve. Where were they? She looked out the frosted-up living room window again. The winter storm swirled the threatening snowflakes around, and she could imagine how the highway from the city was icing up with every gust of bone-chilling wind.

She had raised six children in this little house after her beloved husband died, so young, in a car crash. The last baby was scarcely born before he was gone forever. Somehow, she survived and the youngsters did too, and they had grown close. Once they outgrew the childhood trauma and forgot their nightmares, they had remained friends.

So where were they? The ones who l?-ad not arrived yet? As was tradition, everyone of them came "home" for Christmas, bringing partners, chums, spouses and children.

The mother, who was also grandmother in this clan, was anxious, as the missing child and his family were coming from the furthest distance, and they should have been here by now. Why had he not purchased a different automobile after all the trouble he'd had with that car at the lake last summer? Sure, he had a wife and two children to support, but that big station wagon was old!

The family home was decorated with festive ribbons and ornaments, along with mistletoe hanging above the front door, adjacent to where they stood. That mistletoe would create a few laughs tomorrow, as unsuspecting guests stood in the doorway to wish them Merry Christmas. Now, only nervousness hung around that spot.

They decided it-was time to start the meal and hope for the best and say a little prayer of safety for missing ones. Washing of hands in the only bathroom took a few minutes with those little children; then the big children took their turns. Suddenly, a shout from the living room, "Someone is here in a police car out front." A bad sign for sure, she thought. Out of the vehicle jumped two little children, and from the front seat, her daughter-in-law, who then went around the car and reached into the back seat for something. Not a sign of her youngest son. The policeman proceeded to open the trunk and carry the bright packages to the house, the eager children alongside him. What was that in her son's wife's arms? Grandmother had forgotten that Mohawk, the guinea pig, was coming for Christmas! That small animal had traveled many miles from the city in a modified Shreddies box!!

The station wagon had broken down on the highway and temperature was frigid, so the officer chose to leave the man with the car, awaiting the tow truck, and transport the rest of the chilly travelers to town. That is how Mohawk, the guinea pig, got a ride in a police car on Christmas Eve, to the amusement of all of us, our sides splitting with laughter, our anxiety now relieved. Time to make merry!





Frost and Festivities

by Catherine Neale Ward

Red Deer offers a festive and vibrant place to celebrate the winter season back then and now. In elementary school at George Wilbert Smith, I remember trudging back and forth from the back alley behind The Bay to Eaton’s, shopping for Christmas, and getting a photo with Santa and my sisters. I found my $5.00 would buy more on the corner of Gaetz at Kresge’s.

Getting snow suits, socks, boots, and mittens on strings on and off the younger sisters was a time commitment. The zippers would be uncooperative, like the sister I was trying to dress. I remember one of the knitted hats had a tie under the chin with two bobbles that would jangle from the top. We would build snowmen, make snow angels and toboggan, and learn not to stick our tongues on freezing metal.

Schools in Red Deer typically closed when temperatures dropped to -30°C or lower, like a get-out-of-jail-free card. I remember walking from Sunnybrook up 40th Avenue on the sidewalk beside Morrisroe. Even when it was warmer, I could still feel the chill, giving roses to my cheeks and turning my toes into icy pebbles.

We all skied Canyon. I cracked my tailbone in Grade eight. It still bothers me.

The three front panes of glass in our living room were painted like stained glass for the season. This unique tradition continued in the early 1970s and later in my married home in the eighties.

We attended Gaetz Memorial United Church every Sunday, wearing the same fabric in different styles custom-made for the winter season. One winter, the bodices were deep, rich green velvet. Our accessories included black patent Mary Jane shoes. The huge stained glass windows are mesmerizing, and the Christmas Eve service is still magical.

Red Deer Lights the Nights, an annual tradition since 2014, illuminates the start of the holiday and winter season. I try to dress for the cold, but I remember standing on the top steps of the Old Court House, my fingers like ice and my breath exhaling frost.

The festive lights transform the few blocks around City Hall downtown into a dazzling wonderland that brightens the long, cold winter nights and creates a magical backdrop until mid-January.

A favorite activity has been viewing the ice sculptures at Parkland Garden Centre. About ten years ago, Mom sat with me at my table at the Christmas Crafts Market, selling my girlfriend’s chemical-free body products. She had a blast visiting with everyone she knew as they passed.

Touring neighborhoods and looking at lights was the pinnacle of childhood pastimes. Even now, we’ll pile in the car, trek into the night, and return for a rum and eggnog with a dash of nutmeg.

The ultimate was hearing Mom read "’ Twas the Night Before Christmas." She even Facetimed during COVID from her final residence at Extendicare Michener Hill.





Magic in the Tree Lot

by Janice Duffy

In recent years, as life changed for me, I moved into my new home in town and faced a Christmas very different from those of previous times. Off I went to the tree lot, refusing to give up my tradition of having a real tree to celebrate the season. I had some restrictions. It must fit into my vehicle and be a weight that I could handle on my own. I visualized a medium sized one as I owned many treasured ornaments with which to adorn it.

I roamed up and down the rows, carefully considering each tree from all angles. Was it bushy enough? Were the branches of adequate strength to support the heavier ornaments in my collection? My attention kept drifting to a small pine standing separately from the others. The young attendant had been watching me. He ambled over, gave me a little smile and spoke up.

“I think you are drawn to that little tree,” he commented.

“I am,” I admitted, “but I really wanted one that was a bit bigger.” I sighed, backing away to give the small tree a thorough inspection.

With incredible insight for a young man and for one who could have made a more lucrative sale, he put his head to one side and winked at me. “But this little guy is the one who wants to go home with you today.”

That did it! Soon I was on my way home with that little evergreen that I found myself naming ‘Henry.’ That Christmas I was chatting with my five-year-old grandson and telling him the story of how I had made my choice. After all, how could I resist a little tree that begged me to take him home?

A very solemn little boy considered me seriously for a long moment before he informed me that, “Trees do not talk, Nana.” Then he raised his brow, gave me a droll look and added, “Well, maybe they do, in your head.” Aha! I thought. Another young man with insight. Perhaps I wasn’t done spreading the magic of Christmas to those I touched in my life.

I now name my trees, Henry one year, Henri the next, trying to be a loyal bilingual Canadian. Because there are no longer many presents occupying the area under my tree, that space is now taken by my collection of about thirty-five hedgehogs of varying sorts. I am certain that they have a party after I have gone to bed on Christmas Eve! I leave them out some treats just in case.

Of course, every year, I depend on a new and wonderful Henry to speak up in the lot if he would like to take the place of honour in my home. After all, the hedgehogs and Nana are waiting.





Christmas Catalogues

by Lauranne Hemmingway

Who remembers the magic of the Eaton’s Christmas Book and Sears’ Wish Book? Oh, the hours spent, enchanted by the treasures in those glossy pages. The first section was devoted to kids’ toys, books, puzzles and games. Next catered to ladies – party dresses, jewellery, perfumes, slippers and dreamy sleepwear. I don’t recall the men’s part.

Television did not arrive in northern Alberta until the late 1960’s. We would never have known Punkin Head, Slinky, a View Master or Gumby if not for the Christmas and Wish books. We would not have known the latest fashions but for Eaton’s and Simpsons.

There were seasonal catalogues for Spring/Summer, another for Fall/Winter. Mail order provided most family clothing. When the new season’s issue arrived, some girls collected the old to make cut-out dolls. Those cut-outs had extensive wardrobes and enjoyed the newest in appliances and furniture offered by Eaton’s and Sears.

I was the lucky girl who won an Eaton’s Beauty Doll. I was three at the time. Mrs. St. Jean, a teacher, donated this beautiful dark-haired doll with her ample wardrobe for a raffle at the annual Christmas concert. All parents could enter their daughters’ names for a chance to take her home. Her body was cloth. Her head, hands and feet were bisque. She was truly the loveliest dolly.

I don’t recall her name, but she was my constant companion. There were no girls in my early childhood. I had a brother, two years my elder. Our family’s friends had boys. I played with them and their toys, but never had to share my doll. Unfortunately, she came to a tragic end. I left her outside over winter. When I found her in the spring, in the back of my brother’s toy truck, only her head, hands and feet remained.

Mother told that during the war years someone in the community (perhaps a teacher, or maybe the post mistress) wrote a letter to Eaton’s, asking them to select a gift for each child that would be attending the Christmas concert. The name and age of every boy and girl was on the list, with a cheque enclosed. Eaton’s always responded with delightful gifts, whose value far exceeded the money sent. Each gift was wrapped, complete with a handwritten gift tag with a child’s name and a Merry Christmas greeting from Santa. What excitement as each child’s name was called to come on stage to receive their present!

Eaton’s last Christmas book was published in 1976. Sears published their last Wish Book in 2005.

Those magic moments of dreaming of treasures in the Christmas and Wish books are a thing of the past. There were no digital checklists, nor internet suggestions of most popular and age-appropriate gifts for children. Nothing was instant or automatic. Everything required individual attention and action. The Wish books would arrive months ahead of Christmas. Imagining and waiting, delirious with anticipation, marked the Christmas Season.

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