ghosts of...

 ghosts of...

             

    The four George Brothers, Dave, Steve, Carl, and, Ken got together for Christmas earlier this month at Carl's home in Fishers, Indiana.  Cousins, nieces and nephews were also present.  

  Joe and Ruth and all the aunts and uncles are gone.  Ruth was the last of that generation and 2019 was her last Christmas.  The brothers and their cousins are now the sole aunts and uncles of the next generation.

  HUH?  What's up with that?

  Carl and Lisa are gracious hosts.  Their home was decorated beautifully and the Christmas tree was worth a couple pictures.  Needless to say, the food was outstanding.  Carl's baked Kibbee and Ken's stuffed cabbage rolls are the new George tradition.  A few of us vowed not to eat like this would be our last meal, but, the half hearted promise wouldn't have been taken seriously if it had been bound in blood.

  Christmas, more than any other holiday, brings out a bit of melancholy in many of us.  Festive, yes.  But, at some point during the celebration, after gifts have been exchanged, and, exclamations of surprise echo and join the proclaimed joys of long ago holidays, reminiscences of Christmases past find its way into the conversation.  

  That's what happened when the brothers found themselves isolated from everyone else for a short period of time.  We were sitting around a table near the kitchen when Dave started the ball rolling that was labeled, Do You Remember?   

  Steve, do you remember that punching bag dad got us? he asked.

  Punching bag, Carl repeated.  I don't remember any punching bag.

  Of course not, Dave said.  I was only five or six, so, you were about one or maybe not born.

  I do remember it, but, barely, I said.  Didn't he put it on the wall outside the coal bin downstairs?

  Coal bin? Ken asked.  There was a coal bin downstairs?  Was that the dark and musty room we never used?

  I think that's what it was, I responded. 

  Did he actually put it up himself?  With real tools? Carl was amazed. 

  Of course, Dave affirmed.  He had a couple screwdrivers, a hammer, and a wrench in that tool kit he kept in the garage.  Maybe even a pair of pliers, but, I doubt it.  The punching bag is the only thing I can remember him ever putting together or fixing.

  I think I inherited his fixit and repair DNA, I offered.  We have paid so many repair people over the years.

  We all share that lack of talent, Ken commiserated.  

  Ken, you probably don't remember a coal bin because dad put in a gas furnace about the time you or Carl were born, Dave informed us.  

  I'm trying to place where  a coal bin was in the basement  myself, Carl said to Ken.

  Coal trucks backed into the driveway and the driver would put a long, metal, half-moon chute in this little space that had a door on it and poured coal into the coal bin through that opening, Dave explained. 

   The question you've got to ask is, Whatever made him buy a punching bag?  Carl wanted to know. Did you ever use it?  

  I don't think so, at least I don't remember using it, Dave guessed.  He was going to raise it higher as we grew taller. 

  Maybe you told Santa you wanted a punching bag, I said.  

  Oh, man, Dave scoffed.  What six year old asks for a punching bag? 

  I'll bet it was the only time Joe was ever in the basement, Ken estimated. 

  He wasn't down there very much.  Do you think it was left in the basement when mom and dad sold the house?  Carl wondered.

  The punching bag? Probably, Dave figured.  He was sure proud of that punching bag though, so, he might have taken it down.  But, I never saw it again after we moved.  

  Ken changed the subject when he said, Carl?  Remember all those icicles we put on every tree we ever had and mom came along behind us and fixed them the right way?  She told us we were putting too many on the tree in the same place.  

  Sure, Carl chuckled.  She was particular about those icicles.  I hated putting those on but she said we were too little to handle the bulbs and lights.  The important stuff. 

  We always went out and bought a live tree too, Ken remembered.  I think dad paid like three or four dollars for a tree, maybe less. 

  Even at that he would try to get the guy to lower the price, Dave recalled.  Nobody but me can barter like he did.  I was born with that skill too.  

  Born with it?  I questioned.  I don't know if anyone is born with it.  

  Can you think of anyone other than me, challenged Dave, who can walk into Meijer with a coupon for a free box of cereal and find that they were on sale, Buy One, Get One Free, so I got two boxes free?

  Wait a minute, Buy one, Carl declared as he made imaginary quotes in the air,  means you have to buy at least one to get the second one free.

  I talked to the cashier and she saw it my way, Dave countered.  I gave her my best smile. 

  Oh, well, you didn't tell me you brought the George smile into this equation. 

  I was thinking about how dad always put water in the base of the tree because he thought it would prevent the needles from dropping off too soon, Ken recollected. 

  It never worked, I claimed.  It seems like they always fell off the same week we bought the tree.

  What was your favorite Santa gift? Ken inquired of all of us.

  That's easy for me, Dave jumped in.  My first bicycle.  I loved it.  

  You mean more than the punching bag?  Carl wondered.  You were six years old.  Whatever possessed him to buy a punching bag? All these years, I've never heard that story. 

  That was Joe, Ken rejoined.  He just did things like that.  Like the time he came home with that huge portable iron with a four foot roller like you see at the dry cleaners.  He thought he was doing Ruth a favor.  He said it was easy to use because it was on wheels. 

  Yeah, poor mom, I sympathized.  It barely fit in that pantry off the kitchen and she had to drag it out every time she wanted to iron . It must have weighed a hundred pounds.  

  Steve, what was your favorite Santa gift? Ken persisted. 

  Probably my Radio Flyer red wagon, I admitted. It was cool because it was all mine.  How about yours?

  I think my favorite was the year Carl and I got these cars that came in a box, Ken mused.  Carl told me we were going to play with mine, so, that's how it was.  I didn't know any better. Mine was all beat up in four or five days and his was still pristine.

  What about Carl's car?  Dave asked.

  It stayed in the box, Carl smiled.  I've probably still got it somewhere.  

  I gave grandma and grandpa one of those shake up scenes where snow flies around, I volunteered.  I must have been 11 or 12.

  Anything we gave them was a hit, they loved everything they ever got, Carl injected. 

  I got Ruth a red dress one year, Dave said.  She remembered that dress until the end.  I ordered it from a Montgomery Ward catalogue.  I think I was about eight or nine. 

  It was at that point that one of our nieces came into the kitchen and said, Hey, why don't you guys come in here with us and talk? 

  Sounds great, we said in unison.  What are you guys talking about? I wanted to know.

  Oh, you know, she answered.  How Christmas was when we were little and things like that.  Come in and join us and tell us about your Christmases past. You probably never get to talk about that, so, here's your chance.

  Coming up:  the hobbies of Curtis Edwards; a conversation with a retired judge; more POS, and; meet the creator of Nashville Picks.

  And. finally.  Merry Christmas to you and yours.  

  HUH?  What's up with that?