Christmas at 412 North
Kingshighway
It is Christmas Eve again
at 412 North Kingshighway, where
holly wreaths are hanging high
in windows and on the glass front door.
The Christmas tree burns blue and red, white and gold
and green. Icicles shimmer silver
from low branches, and the scent of fir
fills every room. There
beneath the ornamented tree
the crib is gently placed, and careful hands
prepare the straw on which the Baby Jesus lies.
Around Him, packages in gay,
bright-colored paper, tied with merry ribbons,
wait, wait…Five little
children, warmly snug
in mufflers, hoods, and heavy coats,
have gone singing in the snow
to Grandma's house.
It is tradition. They'll supper there
and have, as they do every Christmas Eve,
light biscuits, fresh and hot, that Grandma bakes,
and her clear grape jelly, made
from grapes that ripen every summer
in the lovely arbor that stands just beyond the sidewalk to the
east
in her back yard.
And then --
And then --
When Santa Claus has come
in winged sleigh with reindeer
running soundless throught the icy air,
when all is ready at dear 412
then Grandma's telephone rings to say
that Santa's been and gone,
that Daddy's in the car and on the way
to carry home five bright-eyed, breathless,
eager children.
Home, home for Christmas!
The front door opens wide,
and Mother's there–
our little Mother, gentle,
soft-spoken, always kind.
Her eyes are shining too,
not sparkling, not dancing like her children's,
but burning with a warm and tender glow.
She laughs a little,
and her laughter is like the softest Christmas music.
She takes us to the living room
where the tree burns blue and red,
white and green and gold,
where gifts are piled-bright blocks
of color about the Christ Child's Crib.
Daddy always gives the gifts.
Daddy is Daddy.
There is no one quite like him in all the world–
Daddy who can do so many things;
whose eyes are merry and laugh until
fine little wrinkles crease around them;
whose eyes fill easily with tears
when he is deeply moved;
whose hands are strong and gentle,
hands that can write a beautiful German script,
hands that move across piano keys
to sound for us the poignant Liebestraume;
hands that plant and bring to blossom every spring
flowers beyond all description beautful;
hands that work to feed
a family he loves. Brown hands
strong and gentle;
Daddy–whose heart is much too big for him,
Daddy always gives the gifts:
"To Kathleen and Anna Mae
from Santa Claus–
two small white wooden beds made just alike
by Daddy for their dolls.
"To June"–our darling 'middling one'–
a doll dressed all in pink.
A train–electric, moving fast on shining tracks
for red-haired Joe;
and Baby Genevieve receives
a teddy bear.
And then, with much solemnity,
The Five present a gaudy, badly-printed,
much-thumbed offering–
"To Mother and Daddy"–a spiritual bouquet–
from All the Tribe.
There are carols
and a little wine and cookies,
such as only Mother makes.
Then Midnight Mass,
and Christ is born once more in seven loving hearts.
It is Christmas Eve.
My thoughts go back through thirty-five long years.
My heart is young again,
and happy, happy memories
are shining on a green fir Christmas tree,
that burns blue and white,
green and gold and red.
I thank You, dearest Lord,
for so many grace-filled Christmases
in a little white frame house
on 412 North Kingshighway,
the little house that to me is always HOME. |
The Christmas Eve
described so lovingly in this poetry collection
takes place in the house on North Kingshighway where Anna Mae
Marheineke was born on December 27, 1917 – the
first child of Joseph and Genevieve Kaemmerlin Marheineke. Seven
siblings would follow to make up the warm and loving family described
in a number of other poems in this collection.
At the age of five,
Anna Mae was the first of the five Marheineke girls to enter the
Academy of the Sacred Heart in St. Charles–the
beginning, for her, of a
 lifelong dedication to Sacred Heart education
and its divine namesake. After her graduation from the fourth academic
she entered the RSCJ Novitiate at Kenwood, New York. She made her
final profession of vows in 1944.
Those who are
fortunate enough to have sat in her classroom–whether
that was in Grand Coteau or at the Rosary in New Orleans, at Clifton
in Cincinnati, at Villa Duchesne in St. Louis, or in her beloved St.
Charles–know the impact that this petite
woman has had on their lives. Intense, yet exquisitely sensitive;
creative, yet wonderfully able to inspire creativity in others; deeply
spiritual, yet charmingly human, Sister Marheineke has used her pen to
correct our papers, write us beautiful letters of encouragement, draw
her pretty watercolor flowers, trace graceful calligraphic scrolls
and–thanks be to God–compose amazing poems.
When we approached her for permission to
publish this lovely bouquet of her artistry, she responded with
typical modesty about the worth of these poems (which many of us had
horded as single treasures over the years). Only when we convinced her
that their sale would help the Society of the Sacred Heart did she
consent to have that which was so personal to her set out for all to
see. We are proud to have had some small part in the production of
this book. It reveals another brilliant dimension of a woman who is
loved and admired by many; and it speaks of her considerable gifts,
shared so generously and enthusiastically all these years.
Jane Cannon
For the Alumni Association
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