It's Not The Thing That Counts

My father always shopped on Christmas Eve just as his store of choice, Marshall Field's, was about to close. The Christmas I was twelve Field's did close before Dad could do his last minute shopping. Foiled, he went back to the office, made a few phone calls, and discovered that the Sears closest to our apartment would be open until 9 P.M. He would go to Sears and get something for Mother, something for me, anything that could be put in a box, wrapped up, and put under the tree. He called home to say he'd be late and to see if Mother and I would like to go to Sears with him. Of course we would. We'd simply delay our traditional Christmas Eve celebration for a few hours of nontraditional celebrating.

Dad picked us up. By the time we got to Sears, out plans were made. Obviously, Mother and I couldn't go shopping with Dad. The surprise element would be destroyed. The two of us would go to the furniture section, find a couple of chairs, and wait for my father to pick us up. Once in the store, we parted ways. On the way to the furniture section, Mother bought some yarn and knitting needles. While we waited for Dad, she would teach me to knit. We did find the furniture section, did find chairs. While my father was dashing about, desperately trying to find that "anything" he wanted, Mother and I knitted and purled. She told me about a psychiatric patient she'd read about, a woman called Aunt Sally/Sally. Aunt Sally would knit all day long, and Sally would rip everything out at night. I knitted and purled and then ripped everything out every fifteen minutes. Dad picked us up in the furniture section, and we went home for our dinner of oyster stew and peppermint stick ice cream. We read aloud the Night Before Christmas and then opened our presents.

Dad has always claimed that the store was bought out. He says he could find nothing decent for either one of us. Mother had a 4-cup percolator; Dad got her a 6-cup percolator just like it.
It made ghastly coffee and was used once. My present was the ugliest spray bottle for perfume I've ever seen. It was peach colored, had sparkles and cracks and indentations. I loved it. We all agreed we'd had a great albeit nontraditional Christmas Eve.