Dec. 20, 2001 - 20:32 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

On The Mountain

I was young, had quit school and went to work downtown. Of course I was new to this working bit and the need to conform to what my bosses wanted me to do and the manner in which they required me to perform the work. Thanksgiving happened and much decorating exploded all over the retail part of downtown both by the city and in the store fronts. Loudspeakers outside in front of many businesses competed with each other blaring carols, sometimes more or less in harmony and sometimes in utter cacophony.

I worked in a furniture store for Pete's sake, but after Thanksgiving it seemed as if the population of the entire city made their way through our store. Some furnishing a house, some just buying new furniture for a room, buying fancy rugs, ritzy lamps, fancy bedspreads and sometimes all of the above. It was novel to me a callow youth, people buying that kind of stuff for Christmas -- now from the other end of the tunnel I do understand.

Of course Saturdays were worked, all day, from Thanksgiving on. We had snow on the ground and an early cold snap for that Christmas Eve. I got off work in time to buy a few presents for Mom and Dad. Not what I wished to get for them, just what I could afford. Going from store to store in the icy wind which funneled through the downtown streets biting through my clothes. Finally after spending everything but carfare I walked several blocks to the street car line accompanied by the whistling wind. Managed to catch a street car before turning into an ice statue. Paid my fare, found a seat and sat down with my packages on my lap. The crowded car was warm, I guess by the body heat of all of us. But I relaxed in a semi stupor watching as we passed the lighted, decorated store windows. Slowly Christmas seeped in through the cracks of my fatigue.

Getting off the streetcar, crunching through the snow, streetlights making an opal cloud of my exhalations. Seeing the street scene ahead through the puffs of breath transformed the glow from the houses with their tree lit windows into something beautifully surreal. Walking the same route as some of the other people, our coat collars turned up, bundles in our arms. My hands warm in gloves, my corduroy trousers swipping as my legs moved on. I enjoyed that crunch of the snow as I saw the warm lights in the windows of my house.

Mom and Dad were already home from work, the house was nice and warm and the luscious smell of stew and coffee assailed my smeller. Got a hug from Mom and a pat from Dad. I made arrangements to have the front room private while I wrapped presents after I ate.

That night I was complete in myself, joyous, tired from honest work, belly full and wrapping presents rapt with the love of my parents.

If I had known that winter night, some day my grandchildren would know the thrill of Christmas and the love of their folks it would have given me the realization of being one in the chain of love of men of good will.

Having read enough of history through the ages I do not wish to be a learned historian, I have had enough already. History seems to me to be an endless circle of shed blood, cruelty of men to each other, enslavement, starvation and emotional misery.

No, by thunder and lightening, it is Christmas time and with my memories fresh in my mind once more, I will go tell it On The Mountain . . . . . . . .

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