April 25th...”TELL ABOUT THE FIRST TIME YOU WERE EVER ALLOWED TO “DRIVE” A CAR.”

There she sat…….in all her 3,500 pounds of red n white metal glory!!!  Yet, at the drop of his foot, Dad could make that 225 cubic inch engine make this glorious monster “fly”.  And, if he hit the berm of the railroad tracks south of our farm, at just the right speed, that old 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air DID fly as it cleared gravel and came back to earth with a roar of raw V8 power.

Cars, in my growing up years of the late 1950’s and early 1960’s, were wonderfully designed and each had their own distinct automotive fashion “signature”.  Some, reflecting the modern jet age, sported “wings” along the back edges to imply swiftness of flowing movement; much like an aircraft or a rocket flying through space.

Being Lilliputian in size, I somehow managed to reach up and open that massive passenger door and crawl inside our red n white “chariot” of transportation.  I was struck by the vastness of our wonderful car’s bench seat and interior.  In my smallness, I could barely manage to look over the dashboard and across the monstrously large hood that covered that powerful Chevrolet 235 “Blue Flame” V8 engine.  When the rest of the family joined me in the car, I was fascinated as I’d watch our big, strong father make this metal beast obey his bidding by pressing his foot on pedals, pulling/pushing buttons and turning that glistening red steering wheel that appeared as big as a hulahoop!

Our father held mastery of that humongous steering wheel as he’d spin it and we all could feel the car’s obedient response as we’d gently “sink” and tilt into the sunken corner of our driveway as we’d climb up and onto the gravel road that ran by our farm.  While out for a drive, it was a fun sensation as we’d also “bank” around graded curves in the road while we were traveling.  It was as if our car was a fighter plane and we were “banking” into a cloud in the sky while we rolled along.

I wonder if Dad could sense my yearnings to drive his “dreamboat”?  One day, I gathered the courage to ask Dad if I could try driving?  At first, he was skeptical of his tiny son, but soon softened and said, “Sure, climb on my lap!”  We were just a mile or so from home, and on a straight section of empty gravel road so I’m sure he figured this bit of fun would be o.k. to enjoy.  Once snuggled with my back against Dad’s chest, that steering wheel of our Chevy felt as wide as a football field to my little arms as I tried to reach from one side of it to the other.  But, I doood it!!!  I was “the boss” now, and actually in charge of this monstrous mechanical metal marvel………well, in charge of the steering wheel, at least!  In the background, Dad had firm control over ever other aspect of the vehicle’s speed and motion.  His foot was “covering” the brake pedal and gently accelerating as he saw fit.  This was just in case I got wacko and tried to whip that Chev into the wide ditch next to us.  But, overall, I was a good little man who was thoroughly THRILLED to be sitting in our father’s lap and feeling all “grown up” at that moment as I guided the red n white dream machine down the gravel road that approached our farm driveway.   Dad even allowed me the honor of turning and “banking” down into our U-shaped driveway as we then rolled up the little rise and he brought the car to a safe halting at our farm house door.  That experience was truly a “Kodak Moment” of joy for this Norwegian Farmer’s Son!! 😉

April 24th…“BACK IN YOUR FARM DAYS AS A YOUNG BOY, WHERE WERE YOUR BEST PLACES TO HIDE, JUST FOR THE FUN OF BEING SNEAKY?

Anyplace on our farm where a skinny body with a fat imagination could dream up, well, that’s where I’d hide.  Depending on the occasion, I sure had fun playing Side n Heek…..errr, umm … make that, Hide n Seek! 😉

One of my favorite places of secrecy was shinnying up the roof of our green chicken coop there on our farm back in my young Minnesota days.  Once I had achieved the initial climb to the lower roof,  I’d belly crawl to the ridge and peer over the precipice and down upon any unsuspecting family or visitors below.  Oblivious to being spied upon, the folk below me would be carrying on conversations within my gaze without the knowledge that they were under the scrutiny of my “secret agent” surveillance.

If the “call of nature” started pressing upon my kidneys (or more), my aerie of secrecy was handily located nearby to our farm’s outhouse.  All I need do, was to slither my stealthful self off of the roof, go and “doo my duty” and then slither back up high to my boyhood version of a mountain lair of being a little recluse once again.

The mid-summer cornfields on our farm brought more ideas for hiding.  If I could find a green shirt in my closet, then I became nearly invisible while slunking around in our cornfields.  Peering out to the world around me was so fun while sneaky me was hidden in complete seclusion among the innumerable rows of those green giants of cornstalks that seemed to go forever into the distance around me.  So many places held fun for me to make believe and inspired me for exploring the stations of imaginations of this little Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

December 17th…“WHAT CHRISTMAS EVENT IN YOUR MINNESOTA HOMETOWN STOOD OUT TO YOU IN YOUR CHILDHOOD?”

“Tarzan”, icicles and John Deere tractors seem to be an incongruous teaming that brings Christmas memories, and yet to me, they go hand in glove to induce me to smiles and travels back into the sweetness of Christmas childhood.

In my boyhood days on our farm, my weekly bank account (alias spending allowance) grew by a mere 25 cents.  One quarter of a dollar, and that rotund (speaking ‘tongue in cheek’) sum was usually expended each and every Saturday evening when our family drove into our hometown of Kiester, Minnesota for the “Lucky Bucks Drawing” and general family shopping.  Needless to say, I was NOT in possession of much monetary means to be able to afford to see a movie on my limited income of just 25 pennies lined up in a row.

To my Christmas financial rescue, and that of hundreds of other children in our village, came a very well-loved man, by the name of Mr. Arnold Bauman, who owned and operated the local movie theater in our sweet hamlet.  Arnold teamed up with many local businesses as well as the Sime family who ran the local John Deere tractor dealership, to bring a FREE Christmas movie and treats to local children every year in our fine rural community.

The venue for this wondrous event was the one and only “KEE Movie Theater” located at the north end of our small town’s Main Street.  Opening in 1940, this magic arena for imagination and entertainment, over the decades, brought countless thousands of young and old the opportunity to step into its elegant chambers and be transported to whatever world of adventure one chose to enjoy.

From the second you stepped into the lobby, you were greeted with the heady fragrance of scrumptious popcorn being brought to perfection as it called to your senses. Your happy eyes saw each kernel jumping for joy at your presence as it ricocheted from hot popper to glass wall and back into the golden-lamped holding bin awaiting the scoop to fill your bag.

Thanks to Mr. Bauman, the Sime family and other generous folks, this dollar-challenged farm boy is now perusing the movie theater aisles, in my ‘kalumping’ winter boots, as I sought the best seat to settle into and prepare for our kids FREE Christmas movie to begin.  As was the norm, for Minnesota Christmas times, there was usually a snowstorm blowing outside of these cozy walls with frigid temperatures down in the 20’s or colder.

The amber-colored, side accent lights on the walls of the auditorium gently began to fade as we kids noticed the tall, elegant, red velvet curtains make their swishing sound as they pleated themselves into the fully open position.  Above our heads, Mr. Bauman’s giant film projectors fired up to life and flickering images became clear on the massive movie screen as John Deere tractor commercials began to parlay the advantages of owning this fine farming implement for your very own.

The John Deere advertisements are now over and on comes the cartoons for everyone’s giggle muscles to be exercised!!   This young audience that surrounded me made the sound of happy popcorn munching as we all laughed loudly while the last cartoon ended.  It was now time for the main feature film to begin.  BOY OH BOY!!

I, for one, was intrigued by the various choices of film subjects each year.  The Tarzan movies were my favorites because here we were, bundled up against the frozen temperatures that awaited us outside of the movie theater, and there, on the screen were actors in a hot, humid jungle getting all sweaty in the sunshine of far away Africa.

Having enjoyed every single minute of our FREE Christmas movie, it was now time to file out of the “KEE Theater” and out the front doors to meet the cold snap of ‘Old Man Winter’ once again.

What happened next was the treasured time of ‘dessert after the meal’ in the form of a FREE bag of ribbon candies and peanuts handed out by none other than ‘Santa’, himself.  Kind-hearted men of our town would volunteer each year to put on the ‘Santa’ suit and be waiting outside the theater for us kids.  True to form, there was this year’s ‘Santa’ and he had in front of him a big, dark red velvet bag of gifts for each boy and girl that had been in attendance at the movie.  Inside its velvety redness, Santa’s bag contained small paper bags that had been stuffed with goodies and taped shut.  Inside those little paper bags were beautiful, old-fashioned ribbon candy, jelly-filled candy and other assorted confections that were intermingled with loose, roasted peanuts still in their salty shells.  ‘Santa’ handed one bag to each little darling that passed him on their way to re-unite with parents waiting outside the theater.  One year, the ill-fitting ‘Santa’ suit easily revealed the features of a dear local farmer, Mr. Lawrence Haase.  Sweet Mr. Haase, that dear soul, was a thin-framed man in that massive ‘Santa’ suit, so he was, in a sense, ‘swimming’ in the over-sized suit of ‘Old St. Nick’.  Besides, with his glasses on, and his snow-white forehead above a sun-tanned face, it was easy to recognize him as being one of our local farmers and very different from the traditional ‘man from the North Pole’.  With grateful heart, I gladly received his greeting of, “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” as he handed me my little bag of Christmas treats in the frosty air of this beloved hometown of a happy little Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

December 14th…“WERE THERE POPULAR CHRISTMAS CARTOONS YOU ENJOYED AS A CHILD?”

Nestled within the chambers of a child’s imagination are sparkling embers of fantasy.  When an artist like Charles Schulz comes along, those happy embers are fanned into a joyous blaze of wonder.   Music, gentle animation, voices and story-lines combined to create a sweet moment that makes an indelible mark on the lives of every child who treasured the television premier of “A Charlie Brown Christmas” back in 1965.   Granted, I was a whole 11 years old that year, but hey, I was still a kid in the majority of ways and this delightful cartoon story made me smile and even caused me to become introspective of what Charlie Brown’s quest was all about.

What a deeply poignant moment it was when little Linus called for the house lights to be dimmed and a spotlight was brought to focus on his place there on the school stage while he shared the beauty of the Holy Scriptures.  He told the Christmas Story from the book of Luke in the New Testament.  I am moved, even to this very day, with that touching moment.  Cartoon? Yes, but powerful?….. a resounding YES!!

In the following year of 1966, another team of creative artists brought to life a cartoon version of the Dr. Seuss book, “How The Grinch Stole Christmas”.  The cartoon genius of Mr. Chuck Jones, and fellow artists, created a delightful moving animation that made all us kids cringe and giggle at the same time.  And, who, but the ‘master of malice’, Boris Karloff, could create the narrative voice that was synonymous with evil as the Grinch spoke of the terrible things he’d do to the “Who’s of Whoville”!  The masterful singing voice of Thurl Ravenscroft rendered the deep bass and growling sound to that classic song, “You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch”.   That unique Christmastime melody is happily stuck in the psyche of many a Baby Boomer Kid (those of us born between 1946 and 1964) to this present day.

The combination of these classics, and other fine Christmas entertainment, still hold a happy place in the HO HO heart of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

December 13th…“HOW DID YOU DECORATE YOUR CHRISTMAS TREE AND HOME DURING THE HOLIDAY SEASON BACK ON THE FARM?”

There he was, peeking at me from his lair among the pine-needled branches of our Christmas tree.  ‘Mr. Gator’ was nestled into his place of annual honor as one of our unique Christmas tree decorations.  Where he came from and why was he elevated from the swamp to a Christmas tree?, that, I’ll never know.  But there, in his red n yellow articulated plastic splendor rested ‘Mr. Gator’ for another Christmas season within the heights of our family tree.

To this very day, over half a century later, since our days on the farm, I still favor and desire the peaceful glow and deep colors of our old-fashioned string of Christmas lights that were foundational on the bare branches of what were soon to become a tower of treasures.  With every bauble brought forth from its tissues within a cardboard coach, the Christmas tree light bulbs were clipped in proper spiral, ascending elevations of our evergreen elegance.

A sweetness of seasonal royalty surrounded each crafted and delicate bulb ornament.  Mother would always caution us as to the fragility of the holiday heirlooms that we were now handling with our hands so as to hang them in their best position of display on our green mountain of merriment.  Mother instilled in us a sense of awe for these fragile glass baubles that were, upon their inception, first created in Germany.  It’s possible that she and Dad had had these tiny colored Christmas treasures from their early days of marriage or were slowly acquired over the early years of our older brother and sister while they were growing up.  Either way, we obeyed her cautious supervision so that these moments could happen year after year for our entire family to enjoy.

The last phase of this holiday decoration drama was the one that taxed the most patience of our little child minds.  Tinsel was to be gently placed in single strands on each inch of each branch so that it would hang in its regal mane like a flowing stream of icicles off of a frozen roof or power line.  After about ten minutes of this, I for one, was inclined to start tossing the aluminum man-made icicles in clumps onto the branches just to get the job over with.  Of course, I was aptly chastised by Mom and family for this horrific breach of the holiday decorating etiquette ‘law’.

America was, and still is, in love with plastic.  So, to help take our festive Christmas spirits to the outside of our home were red plastic wreaths that had a single, red-bulb candle in the center.  We’d tap in a small nail to the wooden frame of our old Living Room window and hang the wreaths to the south and east windows.  Coming from the barn each evening, I could enjoy the glow of the red candle bulb AND the red halo that was illuminated by that bulb there in our window.

Ol’ plastic Santa came out of his yearly hiding to be with us, too, on those fun occasions.  Although he could have been sent to the top of a tree, I seem to recall that he graced another one of our house windows and was then plugged in to glow out to the frozen farm yard that “Christmas was here!!”

Like any farmer boy, when decorating was completed, it was time to help Dad milk our herd of Holsteins.  When chores were completed and we got in from the barn, Mom had her usual delicious supper for us all to enjoy.  After supper, I asked permission to plug in our Christmas tree lights.  Being the little wiggle worm that I was, I would lay on my back with head towards the tree and begin to wiggle my little boy body under the lowest branches of the Christmas tree so I could gaze up into the spectacular world of holiday color and lights.  I became entranced by the warm glow of primary colored strings of lights that lent a whole new spectrum of beauty to the glass Christmas bulbs, hanging Nativity scenes and gift boxes that had already begun to accumulate at the base of our Juletre (Pronounced “Yool-eh-treh”  it is the Norwegian word for “Christmas Tree”).  It was a dream world of color and wonderment for this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

December 25th…“WHAT IS A SPECIAL HIGH SCHOOL MEMORY OF CHRISTMAS?”

Emblazoned upon the happy halls of my teenage Christmas memories is one of my favorite yuletide carols entitled, “Carol Of The Bells”!  Even though it is over the half century mark, since I was in High School, I muse upon this seasonal song.  I am tenderly drawn to the honored memory of a teacher hero of my young teenage days.

Mr. Orrell Peru was one of those cherished mentors of my music education that impressed me with his very existence as well as his altruistic love and passion for choral music.  Mr. Peru’s intense fervor for music poured forth to thousands of students over the many decades that he enjoyed being Director of Choral Music at Battle Ground High School in Battle Ground, Washington.

This dear Christmas melody was owned and loved, not only by MY generation of choir-mates, but by thousands of other students, in years gone by, that had sung that same carol before we did.  In his early days of teaching choir in our school district, our maestro began a tradition of beginning each annual Christmas concert with the ‘house lights’ turned off to quiet the audience.  Then, upon the performance stage, a colorful, light-festooned Christmas tree came to life right next to our choir risers.   Our beloved Director would also sometimes hang a giant star above the stage for added effect for what was about to happen next.

Like we choir members that night, choristers of each preceding generation would also gather in the foyer of the now-darkened auditorium where parents and members of the community had come to celebrate Christ’s birth by listening to our collective voices.  Battery-powered candles were supplied to myself and my fellow minstrels of song.  Now, all that awaited us was to hear the pitch pipe cue of Mr. Peru who stood in the auditorium entryway.   With circular pitch pipe to his mouth, our concert master blew the introductory note for us to follow.   With rapt attention, we all responded to the downbeat of his arm and the beginning voices began singing…….“Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away”.

Our troupe of singers stepped in cadence into the darkened auditorium with our candles gently illuminating our faces.  As each successive choir member entered, our growing numbers brought the a cappella choral sound of our voices to a more intense volume.  The warming glow of light from our ever increasing amount of candles morphed an angelic gleam into that darkened chamber.   As we eventually filled the double aisles with our members, we proceeded in step to transport ourselves to the stage and risers.  All this while, during the song, our beloved Mr. Peru had a hand-operated switch controlling the Christmas tree lights on the stage.  By clicking the tree lights on and off, on and off, he aided his singing assembly to stay on tempo from the first singers that stepped inside the auditorium earlier in the song’s beginnings.  Now, thanks to Mr. Peru’s light ‘metronome’, the last choir members entering from the foyer could be at the same cadence as the first singers.

As our choir eventually occupied those old wooden risers, we finished our carol in full voice as the last stanza sang out, “Ding, dong, ding……dong”.  One could easily see that the crowd was thoroughly pleased by not only the Christmas song itself, but also with the re-ignited memories in the hearts of many former choir members that night in the audience who had, themselves, sang this song under Mr. Peru’s direction in their High School days.  Together, my generation, and former choir members of the past, sang this special song with that delightful soul of a man (Mr. Peru) that was greatly admired by this Norwegian Farmer’s Son!!

December 24th…“DID YOUR FAMILY RECEIVE CHRISTMAS GREETING CARDS IN THE MAILBOX ON YOUR FARM NEAR KIESTER, MINNESOTA?”

POEM – “Many A Year Of Christmas Cheer” by N. Elliott Noorlun

For many a year, Christmas cheer,

Would land in our farm mail box.

With smiles galore, And memories more,

Than could fit in fire-mantled socks.

We were always quite taken, And by love we were shaken,

That family and friends would remember,

To send us their love, Based on His from above,

On this holiest day in December.

So as I gaze back, On each snow track,

That I made from the house to mail box,

I was always elated, To know we had rated,

With Yuletide greetings, Blessed outta our socks.

December 23rd…“DID YOUR FAMILY GO TO A SPECIAL CHURCH WORSHIP TO CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS?”

Christmas took on an almost mystical aura when cloaked in the black velvet of a snow-laden sky.  From that ebony expanse above us effused a trillion flakes of snow that daintily floated down past the street lights that illuminated our Grace Evangelical United Brethren Church in Kiester, Minnesota.

The snow-chained tires of our Chevrolet came to a crunching halt against the frozen curb of drifted snow.  As we popped open the four doors of that humble chariot, our family ventured into the near zero degree temperatures regaled in all our Christmas finery.  Tenderly watching our footsteps against the ice beneath, we were rounding the sidewalk to the east side of the church entry when I was sweetly stunned by the warm, rich coloring of the enormous stained glass window that dominated that portion of our worship center building.  The lighting from within the church house had set off the intricate patterns and rich colors in the leaded glass ‘painting’ of our Lord Jesus carrying a lamb.  Other church families were arriving at the same time and, as we offered “Season’s Greetings” to our friends, our breath, emanating from our mouths, became visual gifts as it transformed into condensed vapor upon the frigid night air around us.

Our talented church organist, Mrs. Dixie Ballweber, brought an elegance to each Christmas carol that was sung by the saints in attendance that evening as candles were lit upon the Communion Table to let the congregation know that our celebration of Baby Jesus’s birth was about to begin.

The area of wooden chairs behind the Communion Table was known as the Choir Loft where our Children’s Choir would assemble and sing praises to the Lord for His greatest gift of all…..his Son, the Lord Jesus Christ here on this holy occasion in December.

Even though our attempts at singing were shaky and munchkin-like, we children strove to do the best our little voices could do on those happy Christmas performance nights at the church.  Even in our immaturity, one could easily see our juvenile efforts were welcomed and visually enjoyed by many a smiling parent’s face as their little ones sang God’s Christmas praises in our local church assembly of His saints.

A lasting imprint upon the mental tablet of my happy memories was the ever faithful and loving ushers in our church.  Mike Iverson and Harold Kinder were a team with one goal in mind, to be ambassadors for Christ as they stood by those grand entry doors every Sunday morning and especially for this special evening Christmas occasion.

As the last little “Wise Man” left the platform and after a serene version of “Silent Night” was sung, our pastor gave the last “amen” to the evening and our congregation began filing out of the worship center as we all could hear “Merry Christmas” greetings being exchanged among God’s people.  The church’s twin entry doors were now open to the very brisk winter’s night as our dear ushers stood next to boxes of “Snoboy” apples that were given out as gifts to all who desired their ruby red deliciousness to enjoy on the way home.   Those tender-hearted ushers, Harold and Mike, were like godly elves of Santa as they handed these apple gifts to each child walking by.  Gifts, in the sense that each apple was wrapped in lovely blue crepe paper, as if getting another Christmas gift, only THIS gift was super sweet to eat and had been shipped all the way from Washington State.  As my little boy voice said, “Thank you!!”, these kindly Christian men responded with a hearty, “Merrrry Christmas!!” as they saw their sweet-tasting apple disappear into the tummy of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

December 22nd…“TELL ABOUT CHRISTMAS CELEBRATIONS AT A RELATIVE’S HOME DURING YOUR CHILDHOOD.”

From an original military strength of sixteen million, only a remnant of “The Greatest Generation” (less than 120,000) are still with us here on earth.  Those quiet, valiant warriors of World War II live among us all.  They gently live out their daily lives in an elegant, soft-spoken manner that befits the tender souls that they are, yet each of those quiet heroes have seen and endured much horror for the sake of survival of their own life in combat and for the betterment of this great nation we live in called America.  One of my many heroes, in this realm of honor, was my mother’s brother, Marcus Delmaine (“Del”) Sletten (5/14/1924 – 7/13/1994).  Of course, on both our maternal and paternal sides of the family, I hold other uncles cherished who also are treasured as heroes to this little boy’s memory, but for this story, we’re going to hold up and honor my Uncle Del.  Delmaine Sletten served gallantly, during World War II, with Company A of the 351st Infantry Regiment of the 88th Division of the United States Army.  With distinction, he and his fellow warriors fought tenaciously against the entrenched German invaders in the mountainous areas of Italy.  Uncle Del, and his fellow soldiers, fought so fiercely, that their German enemies labeled this American fighting unit as “The Blue Devils”…..and the name stuck, like the badge of honor it was.  Uncle Del’s Regiment fought so courageously, that they earned a coveted “Unit Citation” for bravery from our then President, The Honorable Franklin Delano Roosevelt, for “fearlessness, heroic determination and aggressive fighting spirit that brings honor to the armed forces of the United States”.

Years later, after World War II, when it came to a present day Christmas, during the late 1950’s, we often gathered the clan at Uncle Del’s lovely home in Albert Lea, Minnesota.  Little did this tiny guy realize, back then, what our gracious host had gone through to keep America free and by that sacrifice, entitled us to celebrate Jesus’s birth in a world of peace and tranquility……. and with an aluminum tree, even 😉

Once home from the War, Uncle Del found love, marriage and the opportunity to build a very handsome home for his new family to be born into and grow up enjoying.  From stories my mother told us, her brother was a very talented man in many ways.  Drawing on the reserves of his many talents, our beloved uncle even built a quaint cottage for his parents to comfortably spend the rest of their lives within, just down the road from him, there in the city of Albert Lea, Minnesota.

At Christmas, or any other time of the year, for that matter, whenever you put Norwegians and Germans together, add lots of coffee with sugar-laden desserts, well…….it’s the recipe for Christmas fun and laughter.

Our father, Russell Noorlun, had a vein in his body made just for teasing, tricking and causing blushing guffaws to whoever was nearest him at a given moment.  Anything might pop out of his mouth (or other places) to create a moment of convivial joy and raucous joviality.  For instance, telling our prepubescent girl cousins to,  “Awww, eat that burnt toast, it’ll put hair on your chest!!” 🙂  To, passing gas at the dinner table and then swinging around in his seat as he’s blaming it on the dog…..“Darn dogs, how’d they get in here??!!!”

Without a doubt, one of the most effervescent moments for me was to step into Uncle Del Sletten’s lovely home, in the late 1950’s, and behold his sparkling, modern, aluminum Christmas tree that was ablaze in an ever-changing rainbow show of color from a spotlight showing through a primary-colored plastic wheel that went round and round by the power of a little electric motor.  First, the tree would be aflame in RED, then fading to a GREEN, then fading to a BLUE and then a golden YELLOW in wonderful repetition that had me frozen in happy wonderment for what seemed hours as I saw the aluminum branches catch and reflect sparkling hues of spectacular Christmas prisms of joy.

Like all happy families, we treasured our times of laughter, food, colorfully wrapped Christmas gifts, Bible story time and singing of Christmas carols.  What usually captured this boy’s attention, though, was the cornucopia of a veritable ‘Toyland’ that existed in my cousin’s bedroom.  It was a boy toy ‘heaven’ to me.  I’d often lose track of time itself when we’d come visit as I’d ride their spring-loaded plastic pony, or play with any myriad of toy choices within their lair of a playland.

In retrospective thought, I have often pondered on what may have been going through Uncle Del’s mind as he gazed down upon we little ones at Christmas play around the fireplace and Yuletide tree.  I can only surmise how deeply grateful he was to God for our Lord to have seen mercy upon him to survive and come home from that horrific war to enjoy an America of freedom and plenty.  Do you suppose he thought upon his Army buddies who didn’t come home?  Those who stopped a German bullet or were obliterated by a German mortar shell?  Caught up in the bliss of my childhood innocence, little did I realize what my uncle (and 16 million others) did to preserve the freedoms that we, as Americans, still enjoy to this very day.

Eventually, when our daddy pulled on his great coat over his handsome Christmas outfit of shirt and tie, we kids knew it was time to put away our cousin’s toys and prepare for our trip across the snowy roads and back to our dear farm.  Moving us kids towards the front door, there’d be hearty handshakes among the men and our family ladies would be giving season’s greeting kisses to each other on the cheeks as we climbed into our modest, motorized chariot for the trip home.  For, as a farmer, Christmas or no Christmas, those Holstein cows back at the farm needed to be milked and were getting hungry for their Christmas ‘dinner’, as well.  Such is just a taste of one of the Christmas joys, in the past, for this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

December 21st...”DO YOU EVER WONDER ABOUT WHAT CHRISTMAS TIMES WERE LIKE BEFORE YOU WERE BORN, OR A LITTLE TINY BABE?”

POEM – “Christmas Glee Before There Was Me” by N. Elliott Noorlun

In Christmas times, Before I was born,

Before my bottom, Had diaper worn,

It must’ve been special, The time for our clan,

To Grandma’s or Uncle’s, House they ran.

In days long before, Electronic device,

Instead were books, And other things nice,

Like boxing gloves, For my big brother,

While sitting by Christmas tree with our mother.

Or our father reading, The local news,

While big sister, Rosie, On the couch would snooze.

Or Yuletide times at, Our uncle’s house,

With family around, And my uncle’s spouse,

Playing piano, While little ones sang,

Christmas carols, Oh how they rang!

When ’54 Christmas, Came rolling round,

Cousin Marc and I, We lent our sound,

To the old-fashioned holidays,

That had come before,

T’was now our turn,

To enjoy many more.