August 28, 2009
By Martha Jean Whitehead Killian
‘Twas the night before Christmas…Ahh… you’ve already heard that story. Charles Dickens wrote that one. This is my story:
It was the night before Christmas and everyone was stirring. Mama making her three cakes that she always made every year. An apple and orange cake for Daddy, a chocolate cake for us kids, a coconut cake for her and Ma until, she got the recipe for “The Lane Cake”. Three cakes made from scratch. She started baking them about two days before Christmas. Oh, how me and Kenneth wanted a piece of that chocolate cake. Dougie didn’t have a say so in the matter at that Christmas. Mostly because he wasn’t old enough to talk. We would have settled for either one. “No, these are for Christmas dinner. I’m not cuttin’ them ‘til Christmas.” That didn’t stop the begging. The cakes weren’t cut until Christmas Day. I remember getting a piece of chocolate cake at breakfast one year. Well… it was already Christmas Day. What a treat! I felt special. After all I was helping her make dressing. I think I did more tasting than helping. I liked raw dressing. That is what I called it even though everything that went into Mama’s dressing recipe was already cooked. All ingredients were cooked and then mixed and chicken stock poured over it and then mixed again. Then it was put in a big long pan and then into the oven to brown.
Being awakened by Mama and Daddy on a cold Christmas morning was the best. “You wait Martha Jean until I get Kenneth dressed.” I remember shaking and my teeth chattering. I don’t know if it was from being so cold or from being so excited. Mama and Daddy always turned the floor furnace off at night. Mama was afraid it would catch the house on fire. After we were dressed we couldn’t run to see what Santa Claus had left under the tree until Mama said alright go see what “Sandy” Claus brought. That’s what she called Santa.
Breakfast call came after we had examined all our presents that Santa had brought. I don’t know which was best, the breakfast or the presents. Breakfast was the same as any morning; Mama’s homemade biscuits, eggs scrambled in bacon grease or sausage grease and a strong cup of coffee. Daddy and Mama didn’t like stump water. That’s what they called weak coffee. It had to be strong. Mama didn’t want us to drink much coffee. After all we were just kids. Don’t worry “Suz”, that was a nickname Daddy gave Mama, there is more caffeine in a Coke than there is in a cup of coffee. Back then Cokes only came in a six ounce bottle and cost a nickel. Mama never said anything else about how much coffee we drank. Their coffee was made by using the drip coffee pot. You boil the water and pour it into the top of the pot and the water drips down through the ground coffee fresh from Royal Cup where Daddy worked. There is something about that Christmas morning. The aroma of all the wonderful smells of Christmas and the breakfast all mingled together with the taste of the coffee is still with me. It is still in my mind and in my heart. I can still smell it now…can’t you?…and so… until the next visit.
