Curly Cooper

My brothers and sister and I always knew it was really Christmas time when we saw Curly Cooper walking past our house, heading toward town. To me, a kid of 8 or 9, Curly was a man of indeterminate age. He walked by our house often going to and from town. The signal my siblings and I were watching for in early December was Curly walking by in his Santa suit. When the Curly sighting occurred, we ran from the front window to the kitchen yelling, Mom, Mom, we saw Curly in his Santa suite it is time to go Christmas shopping!!!!

In 1967, shops such as Rexall drug on one corner next to it Thriftway grocery store, the Mans Shop which sold dress clothing as well as logging gear and cowboy hats, the dime store , and Coast to Coast hardware store, were thriving in our small town . Curly in his Santa suit and cowboy hat, often with a backdrop of an idling, snow covered log truck, could be found on the corners at the four way stop in town, or visiting the shops , handing each child a candy cane from the burlap sack in his hand, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas.

Now years later, living in an area of the country famous for excess, I have seen some gorgeous Santa costumes. Beautiful Santa houses, elaborately decorated, with Santa enthroned in front of them. Santa even parachuted in to our local mall this year. None of them can hold a candle to the memory of Curly.

In 1985 or so, my mom sent me the figurine of Curly you see in the photo. Enclosed was a card with facts that, as a kid, I didn’t know about Curly. He saved all year to buy the candy that was in that burlap bag. He bought it. Not the city. Not the merchants in an attempt to attract shoppers. Curly bought the candy with his own money to give the kids of the town as a gift.

The closing line on the card that accompanied my figurine reads …”here in Molalla, Santa will always be known as Curly”…as one of the kids that received a candy cane from him, I know that is true. Curly meant Christmas.

Southern California Christmas

My Granny’s peanut brittle makes me think of Mary, Joseph, and the donkey.

Christmas 1989, Mike and I were expecting our first child, Brenda; she was due on the 24^th of December. We were living in Richland Washington, a town in southeast Washington on the Columbia River. I had a craving for my grandmother’s home made peanut brittle so I called my granny and got the recipe, I still remember the clipped way she read a recipe, staccato voice. She told me to make it in the biggest pot I had because it foams up when you put the soda in.

There was a Fred Meyer, a department/grocery store chain in the Pacific Northwest, about a mile from our apartment. I figured I could just walk along the access road that ran beside the freeway up to Freddie’s, get the ingredients I was missing and come home. It would be good exercise for me. I walked every day in our apartment complex so I thought it wouldn’t be a problem. I got my coat, hat and gloves and set out.

It was cold and fogy that day, temperature around 35 degrees. I walked along looking at the frost forming on the tall dry grass and sagebrush humming “Walking in a Winter Wonderland”. Halfway to the store, I quit humming. For some reason I thought of Mary and the donkey and the trip to Bethlehem. I thought if I were Mary I would have kicked Joseph’s butt, there is no way he would have got me on a donkey in my ninth month. Anyway, I made it to the store and did my shopping. It wasn’t until I was in the checkout line that it occurred to me not only did I have to walk back but I had to carry the grocery bags too. I was feeling better by then and I knew it was a downhill walk so; off I went in to the fog again. I must have been going at a snail’s pace or doing the very pregnant lady waddle or something because a black and white police cruiser pulled up beside me. Slowing to a crawl the trooper rolled down his window and asked if I was ok. I, of course, said I was fine. He just looked at me for a second and said, well be careful out here, put his window up and drove on.

I made it home fine and the peanut brittle came out perfect. To this day peanut brittle makes me think of Mary and Joseph. I wonder if the story would have turned out different if Mary hadn’t had the chutzpah to get on that donkey. I am sure Joseph heard about it the whole trip to Bethlehem if Mary was anything like my coffee lady friends and me, but in the end there was a sweet reward.

And I got my peanut brittle.

Below is Granny’s Peanut Brittle Recipe. DO USE A LARGE POT. It does foam up quite a bit when the soda goes in. Enjoy!

Peanut Brittle

1 ½ cup sugar

1 cup white Karo syrup

2 cups raw peanuts

2 table spoons margarine

1 teaspoon soda

Mix all the first 3 ingredients in a pan, high heat, until light brown, stirring constantly. Turn off heat. Add the soda and margarine mix well. Pour out on buttered cookie sheets. When cool enough to handle break into small pieces.

A gift from the heart, touches the heart.

The other day I was looking at our pomegranate tree and noticed that the pomegranate fruit, coming ripe at this time of year, looks like Christmas ornaments, which got me to thinking about Christmas ornaments in general. I remember the very first Christmas ornament anyone gave me. It was a Precious moment’s glass ornament from Hallmark. I received it in 1975; the date is on the side, from my good friend Denise Jacobson. I still have that ornament. It goes up on the tree every year. Denise continued to give me ornaments up until the time we both got to be busy married women and moms. I have them all. I have the cute little ribbon angel my college roommate Sharon Dawn Keeney gave me. In later years I used it as a template for a craft project with my Girl Scout Troup. Over the years I have received more ornaments from friends and family, my sister searches long and hard for just the perfect one to send…and she always hits it on the nose.

A few years ago I started giving ornaments to my two daughters, every year a new owl for the oldest daughter Brenda some kind of horse thing for the youngest, Kathy, maybe a rabbit ornament thrown in as well. My thought is, when they are grown and gone, I will box up their ornaments and send them to them for their trees in their homes. My first Christmas away from home, a box arrived in the mail with fragile written all over it in my mom’s hand writing. I opened it, reached in and pulled out a round object wrapped in tissue paper. When tissue was removed, there was the precious moments ornament, circa 1975. I cried like a baby.

So this Christmas season, do not hesitate to give that present you know is perfect for someone, because if it comes from the heart, it probably is.

Granny was nascar when nascar wasn't cool...

I remember flying down the road with my grandmother in her big blue Chevy station wagon, warm desert air blowing in the windows, an open bag of lemon drops sitting on the seat beside her, plastic silver praying hands on the dashboard pointing the way.

The Creek the Coyote and Me

This wasn’t the first time a coyote and I had walked along the creek together. I usually let them take the lead by quite a distance. There was something different about this coyote. Its long legs and big feet carrying it across the ground covered in brown oak leaves and into the underbrush without a sound. I knew where it was heading, down the hill to the creek, so I followed on the park accesses road. Sure enough when I arrived at the bridge, there it was, taking a drink from the creek. My approach must have been muffled by the water, the coyote did not notice me until my camera chimed as I turned it on. The coyote lifted its head and looked at me. I could see it had made its decision, it jumped the creek, went up the bank and into the underbrush. I followed along on the access road. About 20 feet pasted the point I thought the coyote was hiding I stopped, turned around and waited. Soon I could see the crown of its head and two ears, cautiously moving along a fallen log. A gold-brown eye peered around the end of the log. We stood silent and still, studying each other. The coyote’s winter coat was thick and full. The rim of its ear was a cinnamon brown color fading to nutmeg then to a creamy tan color on the cheek fluff. I don’t know what it saw, a gray haired lady in a 4-H sweatshirt and faded black sweatpants, what did it make of that?

I heard rustling in the brush to my left; the coyote flicked a glance in that direction and then back to me. It turned; re crossed the creek and walked along the bank toward the road and into the brush again. I moved about 5 feet further up the road and waited again. I could feel the coyote waiting and thinking. It stepped out onto the road, crossed and disappeared into the brush on the other side, never looking my way again.

There are no pictures of our encounter, after the first attempt to take one, I just decided to watch. Don’t get me wrong, I know they are wild animals. They have come into my yard, killed two of my cats and dug one up after we buried her. There was just something about this coyote and the few seconds we spent watching each other on a frosty November morning that I will remember for quite a while.