Christmas 1960 we celebrated in the big house where the newlyweds, Auntie and Uncle, lived with Gramma Marty. But Gramma Marty was gone that year—she had gone to spend Christmas with a relative in California, partly to get some relief for her arthritis. Auntie and Uncle had the house to themselves. They invited Gramma and Grampa Anderson and us.
Only a year before, we had lost Grampa Marty. The premie twins had been spending their first month—including Christmas 1959—in the hospital. Since then, the twins had grown into normal active toddlers, and the family had gained a daughter-in-law.
In this photograph taken by my dad, I see Auntie and Uncle's hi-fi record player, left rear. I see their long-needle tree. I see Auntie's hand-tooled leather purse. I see Gramma Anderson and I remember what it felt like to sit on her lap. She was the Santa Clause in our family...it didn't take me long to figure that out.
Our family always opened presents on Christmas Eve. We didn't go to church unless it was a Sunday. Gramma and Grampa made the circuit, going to each of their four children's homes, all within two miles of their house.
In January 1961, Gramma Marty would come home from California and fill a scrapbook with mementos from the rose parade in Pasadena. Her arthritis would get worse. And before long, the house would be divided up, with an upstairs kitchen for her and a remodeled downstairs kitchen for Auntie Lou.
Gramma Marty broke the news to me about Santa Claus so early on that I don't remember believing in him. But we kept getting presents from Santa Claus under the tree, delivered to our houses that had no fireplaces, apparently in advance of his annual sleigh ride. I recognized the handwriting by the time I was four or five, and I loved Gramma Anderson all the more for being anonymous.
Christmas 1960, Marty farm. Photo by Gordon Marty.
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