Christmas with the Robinsons, According to Girl

Christmas with the Robinsons according to Girl: Because it was Christmas, because it was our first time away from family, and because we were newlyweds, we were invited to the party.

Not just any party, this was the German Christmas feast of all times. They rolled out the welcome. We wore our best. Mike put on his favorite green tie that matched his eyes. He wore khakis and I wore my little black long sleeved dress with spiky black strapless high heels. I was not used to wearing heels and was a bit tippy. But everyone in the family was expected to dress for the holiday.

Mrs. Robinson wore a bright red dress. Mr. Robinson had a red sweater vest under his suit coat. This made the two of them look like Santa and Mrs. Claus. Their parents from each side came. His sister, Elsa, was there—she was blond, pretty and very friendly. She liked White Russians, sipping on them most of the afternoon. Last but not least, Charlie Junior, the young and only son of the "Claus" couple, was present, but quiet. He was at the point in his young life where his arms and legs were too long for the clothes he wore. He was a shy, very thin young man with long brown wavy hair. Mike told me that he was an outstanding runner.

We were greeted by hugs, and an old fashioned bottomless glass of White Russian. This tasty drink consisted of two ounces of vodka, one ounce coffee liqueur, topped off with light cream, and poured over ice. So we sipped and were warmed by the hospitality and the drink.

The Christmas tree was decorated with small wooden nutcracker soldiers (a German tradition), along with bells and angels. It was simple and beautiful. The Christmas tree, as we know it, originated in Germany. There, it had a mysterious magic for children because they were not allowed to see it until Christmas Eve.

We learned from our hosts that there was a special Christmas tradition from the old country. As the practice dictates, German children would be occupied (or entertained) in another room by their father, as Mother would bring out the Christmas tree. She would decorate it with fresh fruit, candy and toys. It would be illuminated with candles or lights, and presents for the family would then be placed under it.

Somewhere within sight of the tree, Christmas dinner was laid out. Then a bell would be sounded, and the rest of the family would join the mother. Once the Christmas Story was read, presents were opened.

For me, the essence of the Christmas is best exemplified by the smell of the pine tree. As a child I always knew Christmas was right around the corner when I could smell the tree as I walked into my house.

If legends are to be believed, on December 24th in Germany, rivers become wine, animals learn to talk, diamonds and rubies can be found laying on the ground, and, if you hold your ear to the sea, you can hear church bells ringing from the deep. But, of course, only the pure of heart witness this. The rest of us are, however, allowed to celebrate anyway.

As we chatted, dinner was being prepared by the skilled hands of Mrs. Robinson. She was a magician in the kitchen; she was baking bread, preparing sauerbraten, potato pancakes, red cabbage and a Waldorf salad. I wanted to help, but she shooed me out of the kitchen to visit with the family. She said that she was the queen of the kitchen and I was a guest in her home. The ten of us found our places at the rectangular dining room table and we enjoyed the succulent spread of the day. We indulged in the delightful flavors of each new treat passed around the table.

As the conversation unfolded, Mike and I each shared our stories of our families and our traditions. He explained that he was the youngest of six children, and that he and his parents lived in the rural village of Lacota (Michigan). Most of his siblings had moved out of the area, so his parents would be celebrating Christmas by themselves. Our plan was to call them later that day.

I shared about being the oldest of six children, with my baby sister, Joanie, being only two years of age. I wished I could have been there watching my brothers and sisters open their presents. I told them that my family would be eating a scrumptious dinner of ham and mashed potatoes on our newest Melmac plates, with our mix-match silverware. When finished, we would use paper towel for napkins. Our Christmas celebration would be in our big kitchen at our house on Spencer Street. Dad would do the cooking and Mom the cleaning up. I missed them.

Later that evening, Mrs. Robinson brought out the coffee and apple strudel. It was made with the most wonderfully tart Granny Smith apples, smothered with a mixture of brown sugar, golden raisins, and covered in a pastry shell frosted with white powered sugar. It was just out of the oven and still warm.

Heading back to our apartment that evening, I told Mike how much fun I had. I enjoyed our new family. The next day I assured the Robinsons that their kindness, generosity and warm hearts were greatly appreciated.

Mike and I have celebrated many Christmases since that year in 1968. However, that Glendale Christmas stands out as one the most memorable.