Of Mice and Stockings
by
Christa Froese
'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house, not a creature was stirring not even a mouse.
Oh how I used to wish our mice had known to respect the holy night and snuggle quietly in their nests. Maybe like us they were happy that the house was warmer than usual and they were planning a great party.
The fire in the hearth was going full blast to heat lots of water that would fill the tub for an early bath because everyone had to be scrubbed for the evening when we celebrated Christmas. Also, in the living room oven, the fire was lit early to make it toasty warm, and we children had to make sure all the wood boxes were filled. After that we were banned to the kitchen not to emerge before the Christkind (Christ child) had entered the house and placed our meagre presents under the Christmas tree. The air was filled with anticipation and flaring tempers. But when all chores were done and we gathered around the kitchen table for supper, only quiet excitement remained.
Christmas of 1952, when I was living in a small village in Germany, is forever etched into my memory. It was also the beginning of some improvement in our desperate situation. That year, my older sister had started a job in the city working for meagre wages, but for the first time she had some disposable cash to buy a little more than the usual necessities, like badly needed underwear. She also sat until late at night knitting a cardigan sweater for my younger brother.
The nicest presents were a pair of fine wool stockings for herself and me. They were warm, thin, with a delicate pattern, and they did not stretch out after one wearing like the cheap cotton stockings we usually had. (At that time girls did not wear slacks so warm stockings were essential.)
Before we retired to bed all presents had to be put away and the drawer shut tightly. I was delegated that task while my sister looked after the fires and saw to it that in the kitchen nothing was out for the mice but the mouse trap. Well, out of carelessness I hadn't shut the drawer as tightly as I was supposed to. I still remember answering yes when my sister asked.
As soon as the house was quiet the mice usually became quite active running between the floor boards, gnawing and scratching. That night was no exception. I still don't know why we did not have a cat. It would have more than earned its keep. Needless to say the mice got into the drawer and had a feast on our stockings and my brother's new sweater. They must have lined quite a few nests to keep their young brood warm that 'night before Christmas'.
Next morning when I pulled out my stockings to wear, I was stricken with horror and can still recall that feeling. The worst part was telling my sister. The beautiful maroon sweater with the diamond pattern had both front and back chewed up terribly. The stockings had lots of holes and, of course, not in places where they would not be visible. I was prepared for the worst scolding but was pleasantly surprised when it did not happen. Instead, on that Christmas Day my sister sat patiently for hours 'art darning' our stockings. Mine were ready to be worn that afternoon to church. Maybe it is because of mice that manufacturers attach a little bit of wool to more expensive items. My brother, however, could not wear his new sweater until the new year because nearly half of it had to be re-knit.
To this day, I wonder why my sister did not lose her temper. It would have been the one time I would have accepted it as well-deserved. I always think back with a tinge of guilt and this is probably why I can not forget the Christmas of 1952.