Christmas in Shoshoni

This was something I shared recently in a group of family and friends on Facebook and thought I would share it here. 


This is my gift to you, those faithful few who read my sporadic ramblings. 


Merry Christmas.


December 9, 2017


I was looking through one of my Mom's old Home Companion magazines from 1999 this morning (oh no, we aren't pack rats) and one of the stories reminded me of our Christmas in Shoshoni, Wyoming. It was the year my step dad was in Germany and my Mom, my eldest brother and I packed up and hit the road for the Rocky Mountains. “The Rockies,” Mom said, in a magical tone of voice, eyes wide, with a smile. It was one of the best Christmases I remember. In my preteen boredom, I had found a payload of glass Christmas ornaments (not red, not gold, but PINK) in the creepy root cellar of the house we were renting on the outskirts of town. Shortly thereafter, I saw some discarded limbs from the neighbor's Christmas tree next to their trash can outside - and a light bulb went off in my head. I gathered the discarded limbs and tied them together to resemble a kind of stunted evergreen (imagine Charlie Brown's and you've about nailed it). Early Christmas morning, footsteps and whispers roused me. My brother sometimes came in off the oil rig at odd hours, I probably thought it was him. I just remember being very surprised to see not one tall brother-like shadowy figure, but several small feminine ones. Through the crack of the door, I strained to see the living room in the otherworldly glow of predawn light that bounced off the snow and refracted through the frost-bordered windows. I made out the bundled figures of my brother's friend with her kids as they left gifts under that sad little excuse of a tree. I don't recall exactly what all the presents were, but I do remember the joy of everyone having something truly unexpected to open. And I loved what I received, I think it was a little trinket or jewelry box. I was so proud of that tree; how brave I'd been to make, not one, but several trips, into the spooky cellar to retrieve the ornaments, gathering the discarded limbs from nearby neighbors and the final triumph of getting those flimsy limbs to stand up somewhat straight. I think it was in a bucket or a big stock pot or something and some rocks from the driveway maybe? I remember it was cold, and I remember we were happy. And I remember the love.