Supplied photo
The Mustard family, circa 1968. From left to right, Grandma Lyle, mother Mona, brother Bob, sister-in-law Dolly and me — with hair! On the floor are Michele and Mona, as well as my sister, Lynne.
Laurie Mustard / Winnipeg Free Press
An antique, cast iron Christmas tree stand I’m restoring for my daughter, Andrea.
Christmas Eve is a thrilling time for young kids. I remember anticipating the mysterious overnight arrival of Santa, wondering if I’d get what I asked for: those Roy Rogers guns with the double holsters.
I think I did actually get those one memorable Christmas morning, when I was 40.
Just kidding — it was more likely when I was six or seven and my family was still living in Killarney. It was like winning a lottery. And they were probably cap pistols too, so they made a real "BANG!" It doesn’t get any better.
I also remember getting a fire truck I’d wanted back when I was five or so, with a ladder that actually extended. Man, that Santa is one fabulous guy. What a memory!
I have a couple of very strong memories of Dad, Joe Mustard, and his lifelong passion for the Christmas season and celebration — particularly his love of finding just the right tree.
Having owned a hardware store and a car lot, he was very astute about getting value for his dollar and he didn’t want to get that tree home and find out it had branches missing in important places. It had to be perfect, as balanced in its natural growth as possible, so the lights (hung meticulously) could be draped evenly and with no gaps. As went the rest of the decoration, the grand finale being the hanging of the icicles.
It seemed he put on millions of them, each placed with great care. And you didn’t want to be around when it was time to take the tree down, because each of those icicles had to be removed individually and carefully, for use next year. He wasn’t cranky about this whole tree tradition thing — he just paid loving attention to detail, and the result was such a beautiful Christmas tree each year. Thanks, Dad.
Watching Dad wrap Christmas presents was another fascinating treat. Having been in the hardware store biz, Dad had wrapped a million parcels in his day. To watch him measure just the right amount of Christmas paper for whatever present he was wrapping, then so neatly and artistically fold the corners in and tape everything to perfection, was like watching a work of art being created. And he always had his tongue sticking a little out the side of his mouth while working. That tongue was kind of like the conductor leading a marvellous symphony: it guided those skilled hands to do everything just at the right time.
Of course, the next morning, all that passion and care was shredded in seconds. But they looked display-window perfect till the attack began, and he was always proud of that.
Old pictures always bring back such great memories. I came across one from about 1968 or so, from when the Mustard family still lived at 192 Library Place. If you opened those curtains you’d see — through a screen porch — the back of St. James Collegiate.
In the photo is my Grandma Lyle, who was originally going to come from Scotland to Canada on the Titanic, but had to alter that plan and come in 1914 instead. When the First World War broke out, she was stuck here and got married to Ernie Lyle, and then had my mom, Mona, and that was that.
Also in it are my brother, Bob; my sister-in-law, Dolly; Bob and Dolly’s children, Michele and Mona; my sister, Lynne; and myself.
We watched a lot of Ed Sullivan on the TV in the picture — and the Beatles, every time they were on. It also had a fantastic stereo record player in it. Grandma, Mom and Bob are gone now, but the rest of us are still playing life’s lottery game.
The picture on the wall, Dad took out and nailed on the garage wall facing the kitchen window so he always had a bit of summer to enjoy through that window.
And after Christmas, Dad would go pick up as many discarded Christmas trees as he could find, bring them home, freeze the tree trunk into a snow mound and create pathways we could walk through till spring. He created an evergreen forest in our backyard and that, too, looked great. Dad never slowed down and lived to 92, as did both Grandma Lyle and Mom, and — despite strokes and dementia with Grandma and Mom — they were always ready for fun, family and Christmas gatherings and festivities, till the day they died.
In closing, I thought you might like a peek at an ornate, antique cast-iron Christmas-tree stand I’m restoring for my daughter Andrea. Imagine the stories, if this beautiful old stand could talk. Have a Merry Christmas!
lmustard1948@gmail.com
