Malarkey: Purely personal reflections
Christmas is a good time for reflections, these are personal but everyone has his own. Read mine, if you choose, and think of yours
As a young child during growing up years on the Flint Hills prairie, we had no plumbing but were proud of our Delco plant. We were one of the few who had "juice" prior to arrival of the REA "highline" from the east.
It was a 32 volt system. The little engine, with flywheel crank, drove a generator which charged batteries. We had "lights" but only in limited quantity.
A pleasant memory is the Christmas Eve when the family had been to church. Dad stayed home. And when we got back to our home we were astonished to see a Christmas tree, decorated brightly with little 32 volt bulbs on a hand made string of wiring. Dad got no credit, for we knew "Santa has been here."
In later years, we realized that's what fathers are for.
As a young man (really a teenage boy) while participating in the Battle of the Bulge in eastern Belgium, orders were to move to a railhead by truck and help load ammunition which was in desperate supply. It was Christmas Eve.
The nuns at a nearby school invited us to sleep on the floor of their convent that night. We got a good night's rest on that hard floor which was a huge step from a bitter cold foxhole surrounded by snow.
Early Christmas morning, before hauling our loads of ammunition forward, we heard the swish of nuns' habits as they marched in carrying a Christmas tree decorated with bits of brightly colored paper, carrying a just baked apple pie, and singing Tannenbaum.
The apple pie story has been told often on national television and also in this newspaper. The wonder is, where did the Sisters get sugar to bake the pie? That pie is a vivid memory of a moment of joy during time of trouble.
Later, with a young son, the Christmas season was a wonderful time to be shared with grandparents. Today it's a time for we grandparents to spend wonderful time with our son and grandson.
A year or two ago, your Ol' Editor let his white beard grow longer than usual, which pleased many youngsters. At the Turnpike rest stop near Emporia, your bearded and chubby editor used the facilities. A little boy, about six, took a long look and quickly disappeared into a stall where another boy was inside. They could be heard talking, The one who had just gone in said, "come look, I think it's him." The other boy stuck his head out and gave a long look. He stepped back inside the stall and said "Yeah, it's him all right." As I dried my hands and headed for the door, I left them with a jolly "Ho, ho, ho!"
Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is a gift. That's why it's called "the present."
— BILL MEYER
