ARKANSAS
BY
RICHARD MASON
Christmas
Memories
Okay, I’m going
to confess: I can’t ever get enough of the Holidays. Bring on the turkey,
dressing, and family, and then stand by for Christmas Carols. Of course, things
do get hectic, and I know the postal delivery people dread the catalogs that
flood the mail. Yes, we do get overrun with our to-do list, which can be longer
than your arm, but I think the bustling is worth it. For me it’s because the
holidays are a time to let your hair down, re-connect, and get retuned
spiritually.
I
mentally have a category for Thanksgiving, and for me, it’s a time that family,
food, and our blessings are emphasized. Of course, our Thanksgiving table always
has exactly the same things, and if Vertis didn’t make the Green-Jell-O-Pear Salad
or her special dressing, there would be a family crisis.
But Christmas is
different and there’s something about that special holiday that makes me
reflect back on past Christmases. Of course, as most of us know, all Christmases
aren’t created equal. Some Christmases of 50 years ago are as vivid as if they
were current, and some of our last few Christmases are so vague, they could
have happened decades ago. Many of my earlier Christmases were spent on a small
farm about a mile south of Norphlet, nestled in oaks, on the edge of Flat Creek
Swamp. We moved there when I was seven, and I immediately became a boy-of-the-woods,
creek, and swamp. During the 7 years we lived on the farm, I hunted and fished
almost daily. Our family, while not at the poverty level, depended upon the
fish, squirrel, rabbit, and other game I brought in. During that time I was the
Norphlet Paperboy, and I had a trap-line down in Flat Creek Swamp.
Most of the
Christmases when I lived on the farm were pretty simple, with a shirt or jacket
as the big gift and a stocking with candy, apple, and orange. However, the
Christmas when I was 12 stands out. That Christmas morning I walked down the
hall from my room expecting to find the usual, but instead there, with a red
ribbon around it with my name on it, was a Browning Sweet 16 Shotgun. The idea that
my family would spend over a $100 on my Christmas present to get me something
so special overwhelmed me. I still have what is now a well-used shotgun.
However,
I remember another Christmas that stands out not because of the gifts, family,
or church, but because of the absence of all of them. Vertis and I had only
been out of college for about three years, and I was working for Exxon as a
geologist on the King Ranch in Kingsville, Texas when Doug Garrett, the
District Geologist, called me into his office. “Richard, on your job
application you checked the box “Interested
in overseas assignments”. Well, I vaguely remembered that, but then he
said, “Esso Libya needs several wellsite geologists in Benghazi, Libya. Are you
interested?” I knew enough geography to know Libya was in North Africa, so I was
shaking my head as he finished, “Think about it for a few days. You don’t have
to give me an answer right now.” I nodded and started for the door when Doug
said, “And they will double your salary.”
Well,
because of a huge college debt that was dragging us down, that December we
found ourselves in Benghazi where I working as a well-site geologist for Esso
Libya. On the 15th of December, I was 150 miles deep in the Sahara
Desert on a drilling rig in charge evaluating the oil well Esso Libya was
drilling. My two weeks in the desert would be up on the 21st, and yes,
you bet, I was counting the days, so when the small plane landed on the rig’s
gravel runway the morning of the 21st, I couldn’t wait to get back to
Benghazi and be with Vertis for the week I was scheduled to be in town. Vertis
met the plane, we hopped in our little Fiat 500, which was just about the size
of the Smart Cars that are on the market today, and we started our week of
Christmas in Benghazi.
I
remember Vertis saying, “Richard, I have a couple of surprises to show you.
Drive downtown.”
Benghazi’s
population was around 60,000, but it seemed a much smaller town because so many
of the residents lived out on the edge of town. They had moved in from the
small outlying villages over the past 10 years to look for work. In the center
of town there was a traffic circle and in the middle of the circle there was a
big evergreen tree, and when I rounded the corner I saw what Vertis was talking
about; the tree was covered with Christmas lights. Of course, that’s what I
thought all the colored lights were, but Vertis corrected me. “Richard,
December twenty-fourth is Libyan Independence Day. That’s why the tree is
decorated.”
“Well, we can
pretend their Christmas lights,” I remarked, as I circled the tree and headed
for our house on the edge of town.
When I opened
the front door and walked in the living room, I spotted the other surprise. Our
living room had a big, brick fireplace and someone before us, who rented the
house, had painted it dark green. Yes, it did look hideous. However, during the
two weeks I was in the desert, Vertis had hand-chipped every speck of green
paint off the fireplace. It looked great!
Later in the
week, Vertis brought up Christmas, and Christmas plans. Vertis said to me, “Richard,
Norma, the District Geologist’s wife, told me yesterday, we didn’t get invited
to any of the ex-pats Christmas parties because we were new and people didn’t
know us. She said next year would be different.” So, it’s going to be just the
two of us here at Christmas.”
The next day was
Christmas Eve, and that night I managed to scrounge up enough firewood for a
fire in the fireplace, and we took our shortwave radio into the living room,
sat down on a couple of pillows in front of the fireplace, and tuned in the BBC.
As a static-filled Silent Night played on the radio, we opened our presents to
each other. I had purchased a bangle bracelet for Vertis during one of my times
back in town, and Vertis had bought me a new billfold.
Even when we
were in college and later living in Texas, we had always made it home for
Christmas to be with family, friends, and to be in our home church. This was
the first Christmas for both of us to be without anyone, and not even have a
Christmas card or a telephone call. We realized at that moment how much of
Christmas is about friends, family, and church. I put my arm around Vertis, and as we listened
to the last strains of Silent Night on the BBC, tears ran down our cheeks.
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