Just One Picture
It seems like such a long time ago, when the celebration of Christmas was new to me, and so exciting, and sparkly, and holy. And yet, in some ways, it just seems like a short time ago, when I posed in my red velveteen skirt in front of Grandma's tinsel-covered Christmas tree in Bloomfield, my newest doll in one arm, with my other hand resting possessively on the handlebars of my new (to me), light blue tricycle. Little Danny had something new to ride, too, a rocking horse, possibly made by Grandpa in his basement workshop. His left hand was poised on the horse, ready to ride into the sunset, sixgun pointing at some invisible villain. He was even dressed for the job, just like every other little boy who lived in the late 1950's. This is the only Christmas picture I have from my childhood. Black and white photos, like this one, were only taken on special occasions and, even then, we weren't guaranteed a good picture, since we had to wait and see what developed, weeks later, w...