A New Christmas Anthology

I have a memory story in a brand new Christmas anthology called Celebrating Christmas with...Memories, Poetry and Good Food. I received my copy yesterday. December 21st seemed a bit late to be sending a Christmas book. I was under the impression that the book would be published sometime this fall, but messages I received from the editor, Donna Clark Goodrich, indicated that the book was not ready at that time. Her hands were tied as the publisher/distributor had held up the book for some reason. I could sense her frustration. It's a shame that a time-sensitive book that needed to be out in the fall didn't make it. I've only had time to leaf through my copy, but it looks like a nice collection and would make a gift for someone--maybe for NEXT Christmas. You can order at Amazon now or after Christmas.

My story is about the wonderful Christmas windows at Marshall Field's Department Store in Chicago during the 1940's and '50's. The story is printed below.

Magical Windows of Christmas

By Nancy Julien Kopp

At least once during the Christmas seasons of my 1940’s childhood, my mother and I rode the elevated train from suburban Oak Park to downtown Chicago, exiting at the Marshall Field’s station. Pigeons strutted on the wooden platform and railings, flapping soft gray wings now and then, drawing my attention, but Mother pulled me toward a long flight of steps to the street, leaving the pigeons far above us.

We headed to a special, magical place, the big department store’s Christmas windows. Often, the wind and cold air stung our cheeks. Sometimes snowflakes floated lazily over us, but it didn’t matter. A crowd formed close to the windows of Marshall Field’s, and Mother and I wiggled into the center, moving closer and closer to the front until we stood before Christmas Window #1.

There, before us was a wonderland that brought oohs and ahs from the crowd. “Look, Mommy!” could be heard off and on as well when excited children pointed out the obvious to their mothers.

Marshall Fields initiated the Christmas window display in 1897. During November, the windows were covered with brown paper and not unveiled until the day after Thanksgiving. For weeks, designers and their staff worked long hours to create a story told in eleven successive windows, using a fairy tale or child’s book theme. Animation came in later years, and the designs grew more and more lifelike.  Piles of snow and frost-covered trees looked real enough to touch. A tray of gingerbread men near an oven so perfect, I could almost smell the spicy aroma. A scroll or some other unique prop told part of the story, and the rest came with our imagination.

The earlier windows were toy displays, a marketing scheme that drew thousands of shoppers. Later, in the mid-40’s, the story windows began, and Uncle Mistletoe and Aunt Holly were introduced.

We moved from window to window enjoying the continuing tale. Stories like Snow White and Pinocchio came to life behind the giant windows. They were probably more exciting in the days prior to television, for we had nothing like this anywhere but the movie theaters. By the time we’d walked the entire route, our feet were tingling with the cold, and we headed into the store to warm up.

What better place to thaw out than in the line that ended with a short sit on Santa’s lap. By the time, we reached Santa, we’d shed gloves and hats and unbuttoned our heavy coats. I told Santa my dearest wishes, never doubting that he’d remember and bring at least one of the items I’d requested.

When the 1950’s rolled around, I made the trip downtown to Marshall Field’s with my girlfriends. Even then, my excitement stayed at a high pitch. I noticed more details, and my friends and I giggled and chatted, and pointed things out to one another. With rosy cheeks and numbing toes by the time we’d gotten to the end, we headed into the store. Not to see Santa but to savor a cup of hot chocolate and then spend some time wandering through the massive place looking for Christmas gifts for our family members. We might finish the day with a Frango Mint, the candy made famous by Marshall Field’s.

Today, Field’s is no more. The sign in front now says Macy’s. It was a sad day for me when that happened. A piece of my childhood crumbled, never to be the same. But the memory of the Christmas windows and my visits to Santa remain even many decades later. 

Christmas Here, Christmas Gone? Maybe Not

Yesterday, I put all the Christmas decorations away. We didn't put up a tree this year because our family wasn't coming home. We were celebrating at our daughter's home instead. I did put out a lot of decorations in the living room, dining room and kitchen, and yes, even the guest bathroom. I'm a sucker for Christmas, no doubt about it.

Normally, we undecorate on New Year's Day or the day after. But this week, we weren't entertaining anyone and I suddenly felt a real urge to put it all away. Ken left shortly before 1 p.m. to play golf since the temps were to hit mid-forties, so there I was, surrounded with Christmas and trying to quell the urge to remove all the cheerful decorations. I gave in and started moving things from our main floor to the lower level where we store those off-season items.

As I worked, I thought about the treasures I was packing away for one more year. The vast majority of them were given to me as gifts, and I remember the occasion every time I arrange the figurines and candles and ornaments. Not only the occasion--I remember the person who gave the gift to me. Sometimes, there's a story that comes to mind.

While I unwound the battery-operated string of lights on the mantel greenery, I thought about Ken chasing all over town looking for the lights just before Christmas last year. The stores were literally wiped out, so this year, he went early and bought the lights. When he had the mantel greenery and lights all set, he switched on the battery pack and we had a major surprise. The lights were blue! Not what we expected, but we decided it was kind of pretty, so blue lights we'll have for years to come, I'm sure.

Today, Christmas is nowhere to be seen in our house. At least, the decorations are gone, but the glow remains. I gave several close friends a Christmas anthology book last year that had two of my stories in it. Inside the cover, I wrote Keep Christmas in your heart all year long  Months after the decorations are gone, we can reach into our hearts and find the spirit of Christmas, just as it was intended to be. The Christmas story of Jesus' birth is not one for a few weeks like the decorations. It's meant to stay with us every day of the year. It's not gone, just tucked safely away.

My Chicken Soup Christmas Story

Several weeks ago, I received my copies of this year's Christmas Chicken Soup for the Soul book. My story, "My Special Christmas Doll," is in the book. Part of the story was eliminated by the editors because they deemed it would not make the story 'Santa Safe." I understood that, but I also felt like a special part of the story was missing. So, here is the story, as I wrote it originally. The part that my mother and grandmother played is not in the book version. 

 My Special Christmas Doll

By Nancy Julien Kopp

 A special doll named Katherine lives in my four-year-old granddaughter’s room. The doll perches on the window seat, arms out and head cocked a bit. Muted red polish covers her fingernails, and a few of her fingers and toes are chipped. The doll’s dark blonde hair could use a bit of attention, for it looks limp and badly in need of a stylist.

 “This was my mommy’s doll,” Jordan tells me.

I pick up the doll, smooth the flower-print flannel gown she wears. “A long time ago, she belonged to me.”  I give Katherine a little hug and place her on the window seat again.

Jordan grasps my hand.  “I know that, Grandma. Will you tell me about her?”

I scoop Jordan into my arms. “Time for bed now, but maybe tomorrow we’ll talk about Katherine.” I tuck her into bed and kiss her twice.

Later that evening, I sip a cup of tea and think about the doll Santa brought me more than sixty years ago. The decades slip away like quicksilver, and I am six years old again. My parents and little brother are asleep, still snuggled under warm comforters, but I’m tip-toeing down the hallway early on Christmas morning. It’s so quiet and very dark in the hallway, but I know my destination and continue on.

When I reach the living room, the early morning light filters through the windows. I kneel in front of the decorated Christmas tree, and a little shiver runs up my spine. It’s cold in our apartment, but the shiver comes from what I spy next to the gaily wrapped packages. Santa left me a beautiful doll looking very much like Shirley Temple. She’s dressed in a bridal gown made of a snowy, gossamer material. Tiny satin rosettes run from waist to hem, and lace adorns the neckline and sleeves. The matching veil, trimmed in lace, surrounds her head like a billowy cloud. A white nightgown and soft blue robe lie beside her. It’s the kind seen only in the movies. So pretty! Her dark blonde hair curls to perfection, and her eyes appear to glow. I inch as close as I dare, for I know I should not touch her yet, not until Mommy and Daddy wake up. For now, the anticipation of holding her seems to be enough. I name her Katherine while I wait for my family to wake up.

Years later, I learned that my mother had made the bridal gown and night clothes for the doll in the late hours on December nights. My grandmother was the one who took

hair she’d saved from my mother’s first haircut to a specialty shop where they created a wig for my doll. Hearts and hands joined in this special gift.

I played with Katherine for many years, then saved her in hopes I might pass my special doll to a daughter someday. My daughter, Karen, loved the doll too, even though she no longer had the original clothes. Once again, Katherine made a little girl happy. Karen secreted the doll away in hopes that she, too, could pass her on to her own child someday. Now, Karen’s daughter, Jordan, is the keeper of the doll. Though a bit tattered, Katherine’s smile is just as sweet, and her blue eyes still appear to shine. Even her wilted curls are precious to me and to Karen.

I think one day Jordan will feel the same, for she is our special family doll and always will be. I will tell my granddaughter about the Christmas I found Katherine under the tree, and later, when she’s older, I will relate the part of the story about Jordan’s great-grandmother who made special clothes for Katherine, and about her great-great grandmother who saved her child’s hair to make into a wig for a doll.

This one cherished doll holds five generations of my family within her heart. Two created her, three have played with her, and all have loved her. I hope Jordan will have a daughter one day so that this chain of love might continue.