When I was a child, some eighty years ago, waiting for Christmas was most difficult.  I nagged.  I peeped.  Once I found Santa’s hiding place and on another occasion I talked Mama into letting us see our dolls with a promise to quickly return them to the tree.  

When I was in the third grade my brother who was living in the magic city of Atlanta sent me a replica of Scarlett O’Hara.  Alas, I had my heart set on a Betsy Wetsy doll and was sorely disappointed.  What was wrong with the man in the red suit and snow white beard.  I’d made my request plainly.  Bah and Humbug!  I cried and cried ands flung my gift across thee room, little knowing  it would some day become an heirloom.