The following Christmas story occurred 81 years ago in Rochester, NY. Like many of you, memories of Christmas are with me. May your New Year be filled with joy, peace, and love.

Blessings, Dotti

Christmas Choir 1943

At Christmas time, the children’s choir at our church, joined other children’s church choirs in the city of Rochester NY to sing at the Eastman Theater.  These were wondrous nights for me as a young child.  The Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra accompanied the children choir as well as other choral groups in a festive evening of Christmas music. Regardless of snowstorms or bitter cold nights, all seats in the theater were filled, including the standing room only section.
 
I recall the Eastman Theater as a great theater house reminiscent of a a Vienna opera house on a winter night.  Inside, the Eastman Theater was as opulent as a European palace with marble floors and gold filigree iron banister staircases.  Gold leaved rotundas with fresco paintings embellishing the walls and above the audience seating, a massive chandelier with electric candles reflecting thousands of draped crystals.
 
It was war time – WW 2.  My Dad worked three jobs to support the war effort and feed his family.  My Mother had congenital heart problems, and she tired easily.  Her concerned doctor, Dr. Dorrance, made weekly house calls, giving her B-12 shots, to boost her energy. My Dad was given a military deferment because of my Mother’s health but was required to work in a defense plant.   
 
The Thursday before the Christmas performances, I would bring home my choir blouse from church so my mother could wash and starch the blouse.  No first-floor laundry room or washer and dryer in the 40s, only the lowly wash tub and hand wringer in the dirt floor cellar. My Mother would make the trip to the cellar and wash and hand wring my choir blouse. Then dipping into a starch solution, she hung it near the coal furnace to dry.
 
She wanted her little girl to look perfect.
 
Ironing in the 40s took skill.  Danger lurked each time the iron touched the blouse. There was little room for error.  The blouse could be scorched if the iron was too hot. Irons did not have the temperature options we have now, so my Mother adjusted the heat by flicking water on the iron to determine if it were too hot. 
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