Visions of Sugarplums . . .
"The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there!" On a cold dark night in early December, 1965, there was an unexpected knock on the door of my family's apartment at our base housing in Phorzheim, Germany. A dark, mysterious white-bearded man draped in a flowing red cape swept into our living room, his head covered with a tall polka-dotted red hat. Across his back was a long sheath filled with branches and twigs. In one hand he carried a tall miter leaving his other hand free to point and inquire, "Have you been a good little girl?" As St. Nicholas leaned in close to my sister she let out an awful scream. No amount of fruit and nuts was going to save that night. St. Nick was quietly escorted from the apartment grateful that tradition demanded short visits with each child. Christmas in Germany was a wonderful experience for our...
