Starting the Christmas Spirit
- Thread starter pg409
- Start date
Just thought this story I heard might fit here this season.
"I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted...."Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.
For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.
I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.
I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!
I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."
The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it.
Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were -- ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.
I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95."
May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that care...
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus!
"I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted...."Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.
For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.
I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.
I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!
I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."
The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it.
Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were -- ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.
I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95."
May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that care...
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus!
I will be sure to read that to my children. I'm sure they will like it. Thanks for posting.
Giny and I would like to wish all our wacked out buddies and friends a VERY MERRY AND HAPPY HOLIDAY SEASON.
May 2015 be healthy and happy one !!
May 2015 be healthy and happy one !!
Good story, Pat! Gives one pause to think about how lucky we are, what freedoms and liberties we do enjoy 
.
Here's a shot of me and the Impala SS on our first official snow fall the other day .
Merry Christmas to all!
TomK
.Here's a shot of me and the Impala SS on our first official snow fall the other day
.Merry Christmas to all!
TomK
Deb and I were ready to support Christmas about an hour ago. We started to the parade in her 65 pickup and I was the designated candy-thrower-outer. We got about 200 yards and it started missing and popping through the carb. I figured it was a broken rocker stud, since we had it happen once before on this motor. We backed it back to the house, pulled it in the garage and decided we would take the 67 Camaro, it's been in many parades and never let us down. All the way to town, the heater never started blowing warm air and the gauge pegged out, I figured the thermostat was stuck so we beat it to the house, again. Deb took the candy to town and gave t to some friends who were also in the parade.
While she was gone, I pulled the valve covers and sure enough, a rocker stud was broken. I opened the radiator cap on the Camaro and found that the radiator wasn't even half full. Now, I have to figure out why the pickup is snapping rocker studs, it was the same cylinder as last time but I don't remember which rocker. This time it's the exhaust valve.
While she was gone, I pulled the valve covers and sure enough, a rocker stud was broken. I opened the radiator cap on the Camaro and found that the radiator wasn't even half full. Now, I have to figure out why the pickup is snapping rocker studs, it was the same cylinder as last time but I don't remember which rocker. This time it's the exhaust valve.
Sorry to hear of your troubles.......you where spot on with diagnosis........but ya gotta admitt,that's alotta bah humbug.....not the Christmas spirit.....I hope
Sorry to hear you had trouble today Mearl. I hope it's nothing major with either one.
As Waylon Jennings once said, "if it ain't one thing, it's another one on the way".
(Rainy Day Woman - 1975)
(Rainy Day Woman - 1975)
I was kind of looking forward to throwing candy at people. Neither of these is a problem, just checking the radiator on the Camaro occasionally would be a good thing. Unfortunately, some other people here in the house drive it and leave that stuff up to me.
I think the problem with the pick up may be that I need long slot rockers, I haven't looked yet but I bet they're not. They are a set I picked up at a swap meet, just stamped steel roller tips. The cam isn't big enough to need much, it's just a speedpro copy of an L-79; the lift is only .447. I think I'll file the slots out a few thousandths and fix it.
I think the problem with the pick up may be that I need long slot rockers, I haven't looked yet but I bet they're not. They are a set I picked up at a swap meet, just stamped steel roller tips. The cam isn't big enough to need much, it's just a speedpro copy of an L-79; the lift is only .447. I think I'll file the slots out a few thousandths and fix it.
