“Over the river, and through the wood, to grandfather’s house we go; The horse knows the way, to carry the sleigh, through the white and drifted snow.”
Oh yes, happy holiday memories! It all started out the week before Christmas when kids were out of school. Our parents would take us downtown to see the Yuletide scenes in the brightly decorated windows of Dayton’s, Donaldson’s, Power’s and all. Even in the 1930s the figures were animated, of course not as sophisticated as they are today. Even so, they served the children of that time well. All the imaginative icons were there—toys, trains, dolls and Santas.
The week before Christmas dragged on slowly, but the big day finally arrived. This day was made memorable by the unusual succession of events put on by the relatives—the “progressive dinner.” If you can imagine all the preparations, energy and planning it took, you might decide to forego it, as each and every one of the relatives was involved. To say it was a hassle would be an understatement. For, to get from one relative’s house to another for the progressive dinner, one first had to dig the car out from a snowdrift, then tuck the little ones into their snowsuits, not only one time but several times.
The main idea was to have each course at a different relative’s house. They would start at our house behind the Victory Flagpole and imbibe on eggnog, in its purest state and a few appetizers. Then on to grandma’s house at 4131 Bryant Ave. for the salad course, which was a beautiful mold of cranberry-like gelatin on a bed of lettuce and small pieces of walnuts scattered on top. A second gelatin was orange colored and had little flecks of carrots running through it. A third salad was a reddish gelatin called aspic, and heaven only knows what that was!
From there we caravanned to 3838 Aldrich Ave. which was the home of Rosa and Paul Crow, my aunt and uncle. This is where the main course was served. My sister and I were having a good time comparing the relative’s Christmas trees and the different methods of decorating them and the quantity of gifts displayed under each tree. But when the aroma of turkey, stuffing and yams floated through the room, the tree and gift comparisons ceased, and we readied ourselves for a fine dinner.
Now, when all the cousins were little, we had to sit at a table in the kitchen. We had to wait until the food was passed around in the dining room, then the aunties brought us our meals. But now the older cousins had graduated to the basement and we had our own little set-up, consisting of two card tables pushed together, a lovely tablecloth, plates, silverware and our own turkey. The oldest cousin present was designated as turkey carver. That was Bill Crow. After the cousins took their places at the table, Bill stood up and with great flare proceeded to carve the bird.
Now, he had no idea how slippery that bird was, and upon the first stab it slid right off the platter and onto the cement floor. The cousins gasped, but Bill calmly picked the bird up, walked over to the laundry tub and washed it off. He patted it dry with one of his mother’s bath towels. Putting it back on the platter, he then proceeded to carve the cooled-off turkey. We could hardly eat because of all the laughter, but put a pretty good dent in the bird and the rest of the fixin’s, anyway!
The dessert course was held at another aunt and uncle’s home. This was Bill and Florence Meyer, who lived at 1707 Hillside Ave. There were a variety of pies, red and green-sprinkled Christmas cookies, dates rolled in powdered sugar and a myriad of other sweets, too caloric to mention. By then everyone was so full they could hardly get up to go home! But everyone thought that “progressive dinner” was probably the most fun of all the relative’s Christmases!