The Christmas Train to Philadelphia

    Christmas time was a special time to look forward to, not for only presents and a tree, but also because my Dad’s Mother, my Nana James, would take my older sister and me on the Christmas Train to Philadelphia.  We were in elementary school, and each year Nana James would purchase 3 tickets to Philadelphia on the Reading Railroad.  The station was on First Street in our small town of 5600 people in Royersford, PA.  This was a busy station for the folks to catch a train who worked north of our town in Reading or south in Philadelphia. 

    It was an exciting day!  I could hardly sleep the night before, knowing that I got to dress up in my Sunday best, then a warm coat and leggings, a hat and mittens.  I always held onto Nana’s hand, so as not to get lost.  The station master would escort us to the appropriate car, then we would board.  I remember the big seats which not only faced forward, but backward as well.  But we always sat 3 across as there was plenty of room.  

    All the way into Philadelphia, I remember passing small communities with snow-covered fields, beautiful homes decorated for the holidays and lots of car traffic running parallel to the train.  The anticipation grew as we got closer to Penn Central Station.  We were almost there!

    Penn Station was huge and beautiful and the clocks were so big!  A quick ride in a taxi put us in Center City, Philadelphia.  What a wonder to behold as all of the stores and shops were decorated so beautifully.  There were more lights around the windows and roof lines than I could have imagined.  Full-size characters were placed outside store doors and it was easy to find a 6 foot nutcracker welcoming you into a shop.   

    And then we were there – Market Street!  John Wanamakers, and Gimbels and Strawbridge and Clothiers were waiting for us.  Their store displays were comparable to none.  The animated store window displays were themed every year and not the same.  It took hours to walk slowly so as not to miss a single detail.  I never minded the snow or cold, the glory and wonder of those window displays and the beauty inside them was much more than my mind could comprehend. 

   After walking by all the windows, we shopped a little and then Nana would take us to one of the restaurants for lunch.  Oh, it was wonderful to be surrounded by the gorgeous trees and decorations in the stores and then be treated so graciously in the restaurant.  I felt so special.  I tried not to hurry so as to take in as much beauty and of course, delicious food, as I could.  This was a special day.

    But as with all good things, the time to return home arrived and we had to go back to Penn Central Station for our train home.  I remember sleeping most of the ride home. 

    I was recently in Royersford and passed the old train station on First Street, now closed and no longer used.  It used to be the headquarters of the local historic society, then a pretzel shop and is vacant once again.  But time and time again as I pass the station, memories of the Christmas train come to mind and once again I am a small child, anxiously waiting to board to ride to Philadelphia to see the wonders of the stores on Market Street.  

Christmases past – My Visit with Santa

    Every December, Mom and Dad would take my older sister, Eileen, and me to visit Santa Claus.  Oh, what a thrill it was just thinking of seeing our favorite guy in that red velvet suit and that beard – I wanted to touch it, but wasn’t sure….

    One of the best Santa visits happened in the early 1950s, when I was just 3 years old.  That year, unlike past years, the visit to Santa would be just Mom, Eileen and me.  Dad had to work overtime at his job and wouldn’t be able to accompany us.  Of course, my sister and I were disappointed, but Mom promised she would get us to the American Legion Post in our hometown without any problem. 

    After supper, we  dressed in our winter coats, leggings and mittens and headed for the American Legion Post on Main Street, Royersford, PA, where Santa was waiting to greet all of us and I could tell him what I wanted for Christmas.  The excitement built as our car got closer to the building.  There were still a few parking spots available – hurrah!  It had snowed just a little, with a light sprinkling of snowflakes covering the ground, the trees, and bushes, adding that perfect touch of sparkle to the excitement that I felt.  

   Inside the large hall, I remember just a short line of other children, all of them eager to sit on Santa’s lap and request their favorite toy.  After a few minutes, my sister and I got to meet him – what a thrill!  Just a little nervous, I allowed my older sister to go first, which was protocol for sisters.  After she sat on Santa’s lap and talked with him, it was my turn.  I had to climb up a little as Santa was quite large, with a huge belly and a big black belt. 

    I was in awe – here was Santa Claus!  I had no trouble remembering what I wanted that year – a new doll with blonde hair, just like mine.  Mom stood to the side and smiled the whole time.  When my chat with Santa had ended, my sister came back to Santa and we were encouraged to have our photograph taken with Santa Claus.  The photo below was taken that day, many Christmases ago…

    The reason Mom was smiling so much was not because her two daughters were thrilled to visit Santa, but because the man “playing” Santa was my Dad!  Neither Eileen nor I had any idea that we sat on our Dad’s lap, told him what we wanted for Christmas, or guessed who he was!  This photo is a treasured memory, since my beloved Dad has passed, but I display the photo prominently each year in the living room, time and time again, where everyone can see it.   I’m the smaller one on the right side with the coat, furry hat and leggings.  It was years later after my sister and I officially admitted Santa was a beloved character, but not really “real”, that we were told who Santa was.  Everyone else in the American Legion hall knew!

   I remember that Christmas, even as young as I was.  I got exactly what I asked Santa for – a new doll with blonde hair, just like mine. 

Almost Thanksgiving

                                                               

    It’s almost Thanksgiving.  And it is, by far, one that I truly celebrate and enjoy.  The fall season has literally flown by.  I’ve been enjoying the cloudy skies, a different shade of gray from rain clouds.  That kind of fall cloud that invites you to take a walk outside and embrace the day.  That kind of day that begins just a little chilly, has a warm afternoon, and ends with a cool evening that requires a jacket or sweater, at least in South Central Texas. 

     For several weeks, I’ve been thinking about what Thanksgiving means to me.  And the time I’ve spent thinking about it has filled my heart with joy, sadness, excitement, peace and a feeling of true thanks.  Halloween was just a few weeks ago and Christmas decorations have been sighted in all the stores and businesses for weeks.  One is starting to see more Thanksgiving decorations than in the past.  There are beautiful dinner sets, napkins, candles, garlands, linens, even colored lights.  Growing up, there wasn’t much Thanksgiving décor to choose from except for pumpkins, scarecrows and Indian corn wreaths for the front door.  I enjoy decorating a fall tree in the house and every room has colorful autumnal décor.

    Our family would always wait to have Thanksgiving dinner after the local high school football game on Thanksgiving Day.  My alma mater, Spring-Ford High School always played Boyertown High School.  Dad was the band announcer for Spring-Ford’s band.  So we would eat after the game was over and Dad had returned, usually around 1pm.  Of course Dad was at the head of the table, and the rest of the family, including Mom, my sisters, Eileen and Kathy, Nana James and Dad’s cousin and my favorite, Aunt Florence, would complete the table.  As the family expanded with husbands and grandchildren, my workload as designated family dishwasher increased.  One year as Dad gave his usual blessing, “Bless this food and the hands that prepared it,” I chimed in, “And bless the hands that clean it up!”  There wasn’t a dry eye at the table, we all laughed so hard.  But I was serious! 

    We didn’t “stuff” the bird; Nana James made mashed potato “filling” which was really mashed potatoes, with extra ingredients, then baked – yum!  It tasted better the second and third times.  Mom always made the best cherry pies.  But we could also choose from apple or pumpkin.  Back then, we had the basic pies, not elaborate choices like the kinds you can find at the supermarket today. 

    It’s almost Thanksgiving, and as I am preparing for the Thanksgiving feast we’ll share with friends, I think of my Dad. He has been gone for 20 years, but I think about him every day.  He was my hero, my role model, my mentor and my friend.  Even though he is gone, there will always be a place at my Thanksgiving table for him, time and time again, at least in my heart.

Starters

When I was a little girl, and would eat at a restaurant with my paternal Grandmother, my “Nana James”, she would always say, “For starters, I’ll have…..”.  She would then proceed to tell the waiter or waitress what she would like to eat prior to the entrée.  I thought this quite a normal practice and followed her guide.  As I grew into my teen years and even later as a single adult eating out with friends,  I would be handed a menu and tell the server “For starters” I’ll have”…..

Most of the time the servers didn’t question what I was saying, but many of my friends did.  What do you mean, for starters?  Don’t you mean, appetizers, they’d ask?  Well, I was used to hearing my Nana and my family say “starters”, so that was the norm for me.

When I moved away from home to continue my career, I continued the habit and it just stuck.  Sometimes I’d dine in a faux English pub and voila!  There would be the word I was searching for – “Starters”, not Appetizers, not “Hors D’oeurves”.  Starters.  Of course, in the US, these were not “real” English restaurants, usually just part of a chain, but it still made me feel better.

Then two things happened that gave me satisfaction.  Validation, even.  First, when I retired from the federal government after 35 ½ years of service, my husband Jay and I and another couple traveled to the United Kingdom on an 18 day tour of England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales.  For a small town girl, this was a chance of a lifetime and a dream come true.  Not only would I get to see many places that I had read about in literature, history or geography, but I would get to walk through the cathedral where Princess Diana had walked in her wedding procession. 

On the first night of our tour, we were in London.  We were told not to fall asleep or jet lag would consume us and we would be miserable for the rest of the tour.  A bus tour of London took up much of the afternoon.  After dinner we stopped for a glass of wine (or beer for the husbands) at an old English pub. A real English pub.  Perusing the menu, what did my eyes first see at the top of the menu but “STARTERS”!  At last!  The British did use that term for appetizers.  Validation!  Not appetizers, not hors d’oeurvers, starters!  Whoo hoo!

Second, I have been researching my Father’s family ancestry and recently discovered that my Nana’s first husband came from England, so he was a British citizen.  Get the picture?  That’s where she learned to say starters and some of the other interesting expressions she used.  More on those another time. 

So I’ll end my first  blog in the hope that you enjoyed why I say what I do when I dine out and will probably never change.  It’s a part of me.  Starters, appetizers, hors d’oeurves, they all mean the same, but time and time again, for me, it’s starters.