Wishing you and your family a very blessed Christmas and a warm, bright, and healthy New Year.

I am so thankful that I am here to celebrate it with family and friends. We have much to be grateful for because, as you know, things looked a lot different for us/me a year ago.

Michael and Andrea are doing well in their teaching career. Michael is still in Istanbul,  and Andrea and her family will be celebrating Christmas at their home in Winnipeg. I will blog about them soon.

I was reminiscing again...

Christmas in Buenos Aires     

Growing up in Buenos Aires, I remember the number of times that we attended a Christmas Eve program by the number of fancy dresses that my mother sewed for me. And that would be two. Both made of chiffon and gathered at the waist. 

The first one I remember was light pink with tiny white embossed dots, normal round neck line and puffy sleeves. The elastic on my left sleeve was too tight and irritated me greatly. After the program, and much to my relief, I “accidentally” managed to sever the elastic. To this day I still strongly believe: If something bothers you, "fix it.”

 The following Christmas my dress was white, with a multitude of multicolored 5 cm. square patterns scattered here, there, and everywhere,  each square decreasing in size as it cascaded down in an arch. The neckline was square, and the sleeves were straight and short--nothing to “fix” this time. I remember walking home, after the Christmas program, feeling like a princess. A very hot princess indeed!  It was December 24, and the weather was hot and humid. 

Once we got home, I was finally allowed into the darkened living room to admire the lit Christmas tree. Yes, we had real candles and each candle had been carefully attached with a clip to a strong branch. Our tree was our very own “home grown” Christmas  tree.

For a number of years we would bring our potted Christmas tree into the living room, and each year it grew a little taller, until one year it grew THIS tall! 

          

I took this photograph in 2006 when Peter and I went to visit my brother Juan, and his wife Marta, in Buenos Aires, after not having been back in thirty-one years.

Some of my catholic friends went to church every Sunday. They would get all dressed up and returned each time with a 4x6 cm. picture card. On it was a beautiful icon painting and a Bible verse for the week. I thought they were so lucky...I loved the pictures. 

One day, I asked Renate Kaethler, or she asked me, I don’t remember who asked whom, you know how unreliable the little details of our memory can be, if I could go with her to church. Renate lived three houses over, and was much older than me––all of three years. I was almost 9 years old. I wanted to go because I was curious and because it gave me something to do on Sundays. She, on the other hand, went because she wanted to grow in her faith, and as I found out from observation, because she was interested in one of minister Martin Derksen’s sons. Not sure which was the stronger reason for going to church. 

Sunday mornings, Renate and I would walk down our street, for about two kilometres, and wait at the train station for the right train to come by. We chugged along till we got to our destination. Once we got off we walked a couple of blocks to the Mennonite church. And so the service began. After the usual preliminaries an offering basket was passed around with pesos in it to which I promptly helped myself to, and to my dismay was told by some very excited children to put it back.  “You have to give, not take.” Well, that was a rotten deal! 

The singing part I really enjoyed.  We were accompanied by the piano and sang along as the blond lady upfront with the old fashioned “schups,” pumped her right hand up and down to the beat of the much beloved Christmas carols: “Stille Nacht (Silent Night); O Tanenbam (O Christmas Tree); Ihr Kinderlein kommet (Little children come); O du froehliche, o du selige (Oh, How Joyfully, Oh, How Peacefully; “Kling Gloeckchen, Klingelingeling!” (ring little bell, ringalingaling)--this one really got me going!; and Leise rieselt der Schnee, (softly falls the snow). What snow? It was 30˚outside! But still we dreamt of softly falling snow in Canada.
These are some of the carols that stand out in my mind and to this day they still put me in that Christmas spirit.
 Ihr Kinderlein, kommet (O Come Little Children) ICC

 But beside the carols comes the memory of the the flat rectangular tin box of halva that my father would buy around this time of the year, and also the chocolate marzipan bars wrapped in shiny gold paper. After all, what would life be without childhood memories.

Wishing you the best of health,

Hilda