Baby Boomer Babbling-er-Musings

I'm from the baby boomer generation. I have a mop of white hair, courtesy of my gene pool. And a botox-free face that sports frown lines in the forehead and around the eyes. Love handles instead of a waistline. Can't say I'm exactly crazy about any of these old age indicators but I accept them with grace. And now I've lived long enough now that I ponder on a lot of things, new and old.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011


When I was about 7 or 8 years old, there was a very special doll that I wanted for Christmas.  Mama told me that if I wanted that particular doll, I would have to climb up on Santa’s knee and tell him.  But you see there was the problem with that song, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” and the words that sent chills down my little spine. 

“…He knows when you are sleeping.  He knows when you’re awake.  He knows if you been bad or good, so be GOOD for goodness sakes…” 

I thought about all those times I didn’t do what my Mama said, along with the remembered pain from those subsequent hickory-switches to the back of my legs.  I was NOT always good, for goodness sakes!

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I tried to behave.  I really did.  But you see, I always got into my fair share of trouble and this holiday season was no different.  Trying to stay out of trouble for so many days in row seemed an impossible feat.  I thought that Christmas would never arrive, seeing as how the earth traveled around the sun so much slower back then. 

Finally Christmas Eve arrived.  I carefully arranged cookies for Santa on a plate and placed it under the tree with a glass of milk.  I reasoned that perhaps the cookies would be so delicious that Santa would forget how I had hit my little brother the week before.  And if he did see me misbehaving, maybe he would know that my little brother deserved that whack.  Or maybe not.  I put two extra cookies on the plate for good measure.

Christmas morning arrived.  My brother and I weren’t allowed to go into the living room until we woke up our parents.  They were always bleary-eyed and sleepy as we stood by their bed, hopping up and down.  “Get up!  Get up!” we pleaded in unison.  “We want to see what Santa brought us!”

To this day, I still vividly remember the excitement and wonder as we stood in the doorway of the living room.  The lights and tinsel twinkled magically from the tree, casting a beautiful glow on the toys that were underneath it.  For a few seconds we were rooted to that spot in the doorway, staring in awe.  Then the excitement won out and we pounced!

There she was!  My special doll was there!  I fumbled for the wooden knob on her back.  I turned it and she began to move slowly as I cuddled her in the crook of my arm.  Oh, how I loved her from that moment on!  My very own Tiny Thumbelina!  Santa had brought me the best doll a little girl could ever receive!

A few months later at the end of a 1960s summer day, I forgot and left my Tiny Thumbelina lying in our yard overnight.  The next morning I rushed out to where I knew I had left her and she was gone.  It was a hard lesson learned that I needed to take care of my possessions.  I mourned Thumbelina's loss for a long, long time. 

Years later 
I once mentioned to my husband that of all the dolls I had ever received, the one I wished I still had was Tiny Thumbelina.  Several years ago, he gave me the gift of an authentic, still working 1960s Tiny Thumbelina doll in an original box.  Thank you, Monty (and eBay!)


I’ve also been reminiscing, pondering, and musing on these topics:

The lost art of letter writing
Cups for hot mochas. Say Good Night Gracie.
My first visit to the library with my Mama
Driving Mama over the Edge
It’s a Little Off the Wall
Crushing on The Professor
The Avocado Tree
From Baby Food Jars to Peanut Butter Jars

Christmas Memories
Theory of Pancake Relativity
The Pajama Party

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