I turned to see a roly-poly figure dressed in a red suit, wearing a red stocking hat, and carrying a large bag. Then it was my name drawn, and as I waited for the package to be handed to me, someone entered the room. My mother’s name was called first, and she opened her gift of a lunch-cloth embroidered by her sister-in-law with napkins to match. We sang the carols the adults sang the Swedish ones first, “Santa Lucia” and “Nu ar det Jul igen.” Then my cousins started talking about some strange noise outside… someone knocking? They were giggling and nudging one another, but since they were boys and loved to tease, I didn’t pay much attention. So I contented myself with wondering which packages were mine and wondering if the large one at the back might be the Shirley Temple doll I had been hoping for. I was impatient with the suggestion that we sing a few carols before we opened the presents, but knew that it would be inappropriate to make such a suggestion. The adults gathered about, we children on the floor.
Chairs had been drawn up close to the fire, and the lights turned off with the exception of one lamp near Uncle’s chair. But, of course, there was no departing from the family habits mother and her sister as well as my dad and uncle had brought with them from Sweden and Norway.Īfter the meal, served and eaten in a leisurely fashion, we gathered about the tree. I was only four years old, and was much more interested in the presents under the tree than in the meal. There was also herring, and for dessert, fruit soup and pepparkakor. It was a traditional Christmas Eve meal of lutefisk in a white sauce, boiled potatoes, Swedish sausage she and my mother had made with a group of friends from the Ladies Aid, then frozen at the Mankato Creamery, later to be simmered and served with rye bread dipped in a savory broth. Uncle Strom had a fire in the fireplace, and Aunt Karen had a Swedish meal prepared. We lived on Fulton Street, they on Record, so it was a short walk, but we were all glad to get there and inside where my cousins, all older than I, were waiting for us. We were on our way to Uncle Strom’s house where he and his family awaited us. Mother wore her faithful black seal fur coat, daddy was in his winter overcoat and felt hat, and we all carried presents in our wooly arms.
The night sky was brilliant with stars, and my sisters and I were bundled up in snowsuits and scarves and mittens. The sidewalks were cleared of snow, but the streets were still packed with the banks made by the plows going through. It was Christmas Eve in Mankato, and back in the 1930s the weather was predictably snowy and cold.
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