Christmas 1932, memoir excerpt

My guest blogger this week is Alice Anderson, a lovely woman with a delightful gift for storytelling. Back when I led a bunch of writers in regular critique sessions, she was one of my favorites. Always, her stories were heartwarming and evocative. Thank you, Alice, for allowing me to share one of your stories here, in timeliness for the season.

Christmas 1932, Part 1

The first day of December in 1932 was wet and cold. That was quite typical in the Pacific Northwest. I lay snuggled deep into the homemade quilt listening to Mama and Paper conversing in the kitchen.

I liked the little bedroom off the kitchen. Early in the morning I would hear Papa rustling the newspaper, gathering the bunch of kindling, turning the grates on the Monarch stove. Then I would hear the match struck to light the fire. Soon the teakettle would make the sound of “S,” and the aroma of fresh brewed coffee would drift into my bedroom.

Mama would then come down the stairs and stir among the kettles. Oatmeal, she was cooking oatmeal. I could do without that. Today as on other mornings I was listening to their conversation.

Mama broached the subject. “We’ll be alone this Christmas, I suppose. The car broken down and what little money we have will have to go for the Federal Loan. It’s a long way for any relatives in Seattle to come. I guess we’ll just resign ourselves to Christmas alone.” Papa didn’t reply. He was reading.

Christmas all by ourselves! No one to play games with and all the good Christmas food for just the four of us! Not fair, not fair! I knew I’d have to pretend that I hadn’t heard what Mama had just said.

(to be continued)

Comment from the coach: Good stories present a problem to solve. Here, the problem is a family’s Christmas to be spent alone. Even before the problem is revealed, Alice takes care to reveal homey details to draw her readers into her tale.