Happy Holly Jolly Holidays!: A Western Pennsylvania Christmas by author and artist Lynda McKinney Lambert #Author’sCorner #WordPressWednesday

WELCOME BACK TO THE HAPPY HOLLY JOLLY HOLIDAYS PARTY!

Good morning and Happy Holly Jolly Holidays to you All!

This morning, I’m pleased and privileged to share with you a piece from author and artist, Lynda McKinney Lambert.

In this beautifully written essay, Lynda reminds us that Santa is most definitely real and very much aware of naughty girls and boys.

A Western Pennsylvania Christmas

by Lynda McKinney Lambert

From, Walking by Inner vision: Stories & Poems, DLD, 2017.

http://www.lyndalambert.com

“Oh, it is so cold this morning! My lips are probably blue! Are they, Patti? Are my lips blue? I don’t want to get up,” I whimpered.

My sister, Patti, and I shared a bedroom.

Patti was waking up now because I was complaining. She took a deep breath, then she spoke slowly, “Do we have to get up already?” She took a quick look towards the wall of double-hung windows on her side of the bed. “It’s still kind of dark outside,” she announced. A cold wind was blowing outside.

Like every other house in the neighborhood, ours was most of the steelworkers’ typical house in our little community. The wood-frame house had a wide porch that spanned across the house from one side to the other. The front door was in the center of the porch, with a large window on each side.

Mom was proud of the ruffled organdie curtains in every room of the house. The delicate curtains were a lot of work for her. It was a challenge because of all the soot that drifted in on the air from outside.

“Just a couple more days till Santa comes,” Mom said. The school would be closed soon, and we would be home for the Christmas holiday.

Our two-story house was heated by a large coal furnace two floors below our bedroom. It stood like a hulking giant right in the center of the basement’s hard dirt floor. The round hollow arms captured heat and moved it upwards into the entire house. Dad got up before dawn to get the fire started. Once the fire was giving off, heat Dad could leave for his walk down the railroad tracks, across the creek, to the steel mill. Dad made stainless steel! In the wintertime, he went in the dark morning and returned home in the dim evening.

Coal, the central part of our lives, heated our homes in the 1940s.

The coal miners of western Pennsylvania provide coal needed all across the country.

Homes and factories were no longer heated by wood. Coal was the king of daily life in America since the late nineteenth-century in the north-eastern United States. Pennsylvania coal was needed for homes, steamships, locomotives, and factories. Children growing up in western Pennsylvania knew a lot about coal.

Every home had a coal furnace, a coal chute, and a coal cellar in the basement. Black dust filled the air all through the basement and outside on the day when the coal truck made its delivery.

Mom’s voice sounded urgent. “Girls! Are you out of bed yet? You better be up because we have to leave here soon and you need to have your breakfast first. Your oatmeal is ready, come and get it before it gets cold!

Mrs. Bitenz is driving today since it’s snowing so much. You know she is always on time.”

Patti and I both decided to jump out of bed at the same time.

Our bare feet hit the highly polished pine floors as we jumped down from the bed. We were wearing our flannel nightgowns. we ran the few steps from the bed to the registers in the bedroom. “Oh, the register feels so good,” I said. We huddled together, each of us trying to keep our cold bare feet on the warming metal register on our bedroom floor.

When Dad had the fire blazing, he closed the heavy cast iron door. Dad knew how to keep the fire burning for hours at a time. My awareness of the magic of coal and fire was in those daily trips to the basement to watch Dad work the fire into a frenzy. Dad was a magician, and we four children were his attentive audience as he practiced daily magic rituals.

One afternoon we all sat around the long mahogany table in the dining room together. Santa needed letters from us so he would know what we wanted for Christmas. We had the Sears catalog, and we all gathered around it to look at all the delights on the catalog pages. “I want a Snow White doll. She comes with her seven dwarfs, too! I really, really want a Snow White doll,” Patti cooed with determination. The boys were mostly interested in some new trucks and cars. David picked out a red fire truck with ladders; Tommy wanted the green bulldozer. We all wanted to be certain Santa got our list, so we wrote down our favorite toys.

Coal is a shiny black rock. I actually know it is magic because of a piece of coal burns. A stone that burns! Bituminous coal is also called “soft coal,” It starts to burn much quicker than the other kind of coal. The different type of coal is Anthracite, and that is usually called “the hard coal.”

The biggest problem we all had was the dirty soot that gathered on our porch and window sills. Soot blew into the sky from the steel mills. It was greasy, little black fragments that floated in the air and landed on all the houses and porches. Cleaning the porches and windows seemed like an endless job to us when the weather was warmer. When winter came, the snow would get a layer of black dust all over it.

Have you written your letters to Santa yet?” Dad asked. “Yes,” we all said at the same time. Since I am the oldest, I am in charge of getting things done in the house. I handed Dad the four lists we created. We wrote them on our school tablets, with the blue lines on the white paper. We were all aware that It was getting close to Christmas, and we all four were anxious to get those letters off to Santa. I felt a little nervous about my letter, though, because I knew I had not been “good” sometimes during the year. I was thinking about the fight I had in the summertime with David and Tommy. I recalled how the neighbor had sent us all three home when she heard us fighting in her yard. Santa might know about it, and then I would be in trouble with the gifts, I realized. And, how did Santa know everything? Well, that is simple. It is the elves he sends out to spy on us. They report back to him when they see us doing things that are not so nice. When I thought about it, I could remember some other things that I did that year.

When we wrote the letters to Santa, Tommy was watching out the windows for elves, too. Mom told us often during this time of year about the elves watching us day and night. It was frightening to think about it, really! David looked worried and said, Well, the worst thing that can happen would be for Santa to get a report that I didn’t stay in my room when I had the mumps, and I gave them to Bobby.” Bobby lived across the street from our house. Terror filled our hearts because we all knew the penalty that we would receive on Christmas day if that happened. We have been warned again and again about that! I really wanted to get a travel alarm clock, like the one Bridget had at school. Bridget seemed to have everything. But, her little red travel alarm clock was the best thing I could imagine – so I wrote that in my letter to Santa. As I wrote about the travel alarm clock, though, I also remembered that I had taken some of Bridget’s colored pencils while she was outside for recess.

I hoped it would not count because I did have to give them back to her after the teacher found out. I was also thinking about Tommy playing with fire, and the glider suddenly was in flames. He was really in trouble for that, but it turned out ok because we put the fire out with a bucket of water.

Dad opened the furnace door. The fire felt like it was going to come out and burn us up. “We will put the lists in the fire now. Santa will get your list because he will read the smoke from the chimney.” And, in a moment, we watched as the paper curled up quickly, caught on fire, and turned into nothing as the fire consumed it before our eyes. Dad closed the door with a clank that startled us back to the moment.

I am not sure if those smoke messages really did get to Santa, though. On Christmas morning, we opened our gifts. There were some cars and trucks for the boys. Tommy got a teddy bear he wanted. David earned his erector set, and Patti’s new Snow White doll did have a box full of dwarfs in it, just as she had asked for in her letter.

I was excited as I held the square package that was just the right size for the traveling alarm clock. It was a thrill to even think about what I was going to find inside that wrapping paper. I ripped it off, and there was my gift! A musical powder box! But, I never wanted a powder box at all! What was Santa thinking about when he picked out this gift for me?

It was only a few minutes before another even bigger disappointment came up that really spoiled my day. Santa had filled our stockings just like he said he would. I was nearly finished opening them when I saw one final package for me. It was a bit heavy for such a small package, too! Once again, I had a burst of renewed energy and got excited with the anticipation of something that I would love to get from Santa.

As I ripped the shiny red paper off the gift, my hopes turned to despair.

“Oh, No! This is the worst thing that can happen,” I thought.

Now I knew for sure the elves had done their sneaky job in reporting misdeeds to Santa for the entire year. I held out my hand and slowly turned the lump of coal around in it for everyone to see. That day I learned a truth that every kid in western Pennsylvania knows. The good little children get lovely gifts, and the naughty ones get a lump of coal in their Christmas stocking! Santa was for real!

Endnote:

“Work in the mines was hard and dangerous. Between 1877 and 1940, 18,000 men and boys died in Pennsylvania bituminous mines.”

References:

PA Coal History – http://explorepahistory.com/story.php?storyId=1-9-18

MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR…

Lynda McKinney Lambert’s background is in higher education, fine arts, writing, and public speaking.

Lynda writes, "spare poems and thoughtful, personal essays."

Lynda’s newest book is a chapbook, first snow, published by Finishing Line Press, January 3, 2020.

Want to join our party?

If you want to join in, here’s how…

Between now and the 21ST of December send me your essays, short stories, poetry, recipes, or anything else of a holiday nature you can think of. Make sure to include a short bio 100 words or less, one website and if you wish an attached photo.

Offerings should come to me in an attached word doc unless we’ve a previous arrangement. Photos should come to me in either JPG or PNG file and the file should be titled to state what is in the photo.

Send your submissions to: patty.volunteer1

That’s patty dot volunteer 1 at gmail.com

I look forward to the privilege of sharing your Holly Jolly Holiday offerings soon.

Until next time, HAPPY HOLLY JOLLY HOLIDAYS!

About Patty L. Fletcher

Patty L. Fletcher lives in Kingsport Tennessee where she works full time as a Writer with the goal of bridging the great chasm which separates the disAbled from the non-disAbled. And as a Social Media Promotional Assistant. She is the owner and creator of Tell-It-To-The-World Marketing (Author, Blogger Business Assist), and is the published author of two books, Campbell’s Rambles: How a Seeing Eye Dog Retrieved My Life and Bubba Tails From the Puppy Nursery At The Seeing Eye: Volume One. She can also be found in two anthologies which are, December Awethology Light And A Treasure Chest of Children’s Tales. See her latest book, Pathway to Freedom Broken and Healed: How a Seeing Eye Dog Retrieved My Life Second Edition in eBook and Paperback at: https://www.amazon.com/Patty-L.-Fletcher/e/B00Q9I7RWG Find it in various accessible formats: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/PattyFletcher See her Facebook business page: https://www.facebook.com/tellittotheworld/ Patty loves receiving feedback about her work. So, drop her a line any time at: patty.volunteer1@gmail.com
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2 Responses to Happy Holly Jolly Holidays!: A Western Pennsylvania Christmas by author and artist Lynda McKinney Lambert #Author’sCorner #WordPressWednesday

  1. I really felt quite sorry for her at the end when she got the lump of coal. A lovely story.

    Like

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