I am rerunning this post because it’s a good look at Mr. Taylor and his family at Christmas.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year to all the readers of this blog.

The following excerpt is from …but I have promises to keep, My Life Before, With & After Robert Taylor, by Ursula Thiess, Xlibris Corporation, 2007, pages 154 & 155.

My German heritage of celebrating Christmas rather dominated my family, and my husband was beginning to see it through my eyes.  Until the introduction of what this season really meant to me, he had looked at it as commercialism rather than a holiday to be enjoyed. But once he appointed himself Santa Claus to his children, his whole attitude changed.

As was my tradition, in the early evening of the 24th, we had our big Christmas dinner, usually surrounded by family and close friends, which was sometimes enhanced by neighborhood caroling.  This whole, loving procedure of Santa-deception was carefully rehearsed and orchestrated.  With the full support of our guests, we imagined the sound of tiny hooves and Santa’s happy face smiling down at us.  The Christmas tree was always put up the day before and stayed behind locked doors until our meal was finished and Mr. Claus appeared.

I don’t know long it took our two, smaller children before they started why Daddy excused himself and disappeared just before dessert each year. Santa Robert would run down to the gate, a considerable distance from the house, ring the bell, and, through the intercom, deliver his first “ho-ho-ho” message.  He then had conversations concerning general behavior with his young audience, who seemed slightly intimidated by the rumbly voice on the other end.  This meant happy entertainment for the rest of the diners, which always included some of our friends, Art and Barbara, and sometimes Bob’s mother and mine when she was visiting from Germany during the holidays.  Even though our two mothers spoke different languages, there was definite communication between them, as we observed them laughing quite a lot.

Michael and Manuela were great Christmas-boosters for their smaller siblings–but also the first to tell Terry that Santa was fake.  He had a hard time dealing with that initially, but once he came to terms with the disappointment of having lost out to cold realism, he effectively guided his younger sister through that period with imagination and suspense.

While we all sat down to visit our dessert, Dad returned, usually rubbing his hands, saying, “It’s cold here. Do you think it’s snowing outside? Maybe Santa is due for a visit.”

“Oh, no,” the children would excitedly tell him, “you missed him again, Daddy.  He was already here! He talked to us and he said he put a sack of toys by the door.  Can we go now and see?  With great effort, they pulled the fragrant sack (courtesy of the horse grain company) into the living room and came face-to-face for the first time with the glittering tree.

Our giant, fieldstone fireplace threw out waves of warmth and comfort.  Holiday songs were heard throughout the house and the small of fresh pine was everywhere.  It was a time of magic and hopefully will be remembered by my children as such.