Feathery goose almost downs Christmas celebration

By Ferol B. Platt
Published: Thursday, Dec. 21, 2000 5:32 p.m. MST
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Maybe if Mother hadn't received a new set of dishes for Christmas, Daddy, whose parents were born and raised in Devonshire, England, wouldn't have suggested goose for Christmas dinner. Mother thought it sounded fun, but she had never cooked a goose. However, it couldn't be much different from turkey, so she agreed. Daddy's sister Mary, whose family was coming to Christmas dinner, thought it sounded jolly and that she would make an old-fashioned plum pudding.

Mother's new dishes weren't real china, but they looked grand to me, all creamy white with little pink flowers. There were plates and bowls of every size and cups and saucers and even three platters. She let me help wash and get them ready for Christmas dinner.

A local farmer who raised geese told Daddy there would be a goose ready for us by late afternoon the day before Christmas. So on Dec. 24 my brother and I piled into our Model T Ford with Daddy to get our goose. He brought it to the car in a flour sack.

When we got home it was almost dark. Mother said Santa Claus would be on his way soon so we must begin our traditional Christmas Eve program. The goose would be fine in the cold locked car. Supper was always toasted cheese sandwiches and hot chocolate. The loveliest part was the program. Mother read the wonderful story of the shepherds and the birth of Jesus the Savior. The mellow tones of Daddy's clarinet accompanied the singing of our favorite carols. Because I was older and my stockings bigger than my brother's, we hung two of my brown school stockings over chairs. After prayers we were tucked in bed with warnings to go to sleep quickly.

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On Christmas morning we entered the kitchen on our way to the living room to see a cloud of fairy dust floating from floor to ceiling. But when it got in my eyes, mouth and nose, I knew it must be something else. Then I saw Mother's face was red and swollen, and Daddy 's expression rather grim. What was it? Goose down! We were treated to Daddy's usual exclamations of the unbelievable.

Wonders to be found by the Christmas tree were subdued. But we all went in the living room, emptied our stockings and exchanged gifts.

Then we learned what happened. The farmer hadn't plucked the goose and because it was so dark outside, the only place to do it was in the kitchen. My parents had stayed up nearly all night de-feathering the goose and trying to clear out the down. Mother began crying again. How could she possibly prepare a meal for company with all that stuff soaring around? But, she said, "Daddy and I can fix it. You kids enjoy your Christmas." And that's exactly what we did.

In the living room Chuck was building a Ferris wheel with his new tinker toys, I was dressing my new doll, Rosabelle, and my old doll, Virginia, in the dresses and nightgowns Mrs. Santa Claus made for them. It was so lovely for her to realize I still loved Virginia even though she looked worn and her hair was a bit matted. Mrs. Claus must be a great lady. If only Mother would stop crying.

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