Christmas Is Coming

From letter dated December 10, 1963

The children and I enjoyed our visit with family in the U.S. this summer. We brought our nephew South Bryan back to live with us for a year. He’s the oldest son of Bucher’s sister Becky, a darling child, and quite big for his age (13 and over six feet tall with bulk to match his height). South has made a wonderful adjustment, has made friends, done well in school, has found that he rather enjoys being “out of the nest,” and has settled into the family as if he had always lived here.

 

Alex and South got out of school a week ago. South has gone home to Jefferson, Georgia, for his five-week Christmas holiday, but will be back in mid January.

Alex took a job in the shoe store. He’s working in the stock room, marking, putting merchandise away, etc. For this he earns the equivalent of us$5 per week working 7:30 am to 4:00 pm with an hour for lunch, plus two evenings a week. Bucher offered him a better-paying job on the boat but Alex admitted he wanted a soft job. Frankly, I think he is luxuriating in having his room and family to himself for a few weeks and think he is perfectly all right as long as he does something.

Carli’s school doesn’t let our till tomorrow. She wanted to get a job but is obviously too young. She’ll keep herself busy through the holidays, however.

 

As to my flying…I had barely started when I went north with the children for our summer visit. When I got back, Don and Muriel Stauffer, our friends who are half-owners of the plane, were flying every possible minute trying to get in their time so they could get their licenses while they were in the U.S. in the late summer. After they left, I went to work.

We have a wonderful instructor. He flies for the local airline and since we keep our plane at their airstrip, it was easy enough to steal thirty minutes of instruction when he had a long stretch between flights. I soloed fairly soon and keep working to pile up hours.

I’ve taken the written exam for my license but we have one major problem. The only man in the country whom the Civil Aviation Director considers competent to give me a flight-check ride is my instructor…which is a little dubious. So here I am with about 75 hours flying time, still waiting for my license. We’ll find someone soon, I’m sure.

Don’t worry…I’m very conservative. I love flying but have a healthy respect for the plane and weather. As far as I’m concerned, a plane is one place you should have your mind on business every minute.

 

The plane is in constant use. Don Stauffer is manager for Hercules Powder Company’s operation here in British Honduras. They have a resin-extraction plant seventy miles south and he has to go down there at least once a week, plus he often has to go back and forth with visiting brass.

Bucher needs the plane even more. He’s the Texaco distributor for the country. They’re setting up several installations, so he makes one or two trips a week, minimum, from here to our southernmost city, Punta Gorda, and back up the coast to Mango Creek and Stann Creek [now Dangriga]. We just couldn’t do without a plane. Furthermore, he has to go to Puerto Barrios, Guatemala, where his barge loads fuel, on an average of once a month.

 

We’re off on our third business trip to Guatemala by plane on Friday. It should be a lovely weekend. Pete Crawford, the Number Two man in Texaco Guatemala, was here about a month ago. He told Bucher to plan to go over there about now and then decided he’d hold off his own Thanksgiving celebration (he’s a bachelor) until the weekend when Bucher is there and insisted that the Stauffers and I come along too.

Since Hercules is our biggest customer…aside from the Stauffers being close friends…it is almost a command performance. Not that I don’t jump at any sort of chance for a weekend in Guatemala. Muriel and I plan to head for the market early Saturday. I adore shopping there. We both want to do some Christmas shopping, so I feel sure we’ll be well occupied while the men are busy.

 

Muriel and I both need a rest. I got myself involved in a church bazaar. The Bishop came around to see me, somewhat desperate since he couldn’t get anyone to take chairmanship of the “Fancy Stall.” I felt sorry for him…the Dean died recently and the Bishop never had been in charge of the fair before and hadn’t any idea what he was supposed to do. I agreed to take it, though I normally flee from anything of the sort.

I had a wonderful committee…sewing, collecting donations, and doing handcraft sort of things (the latter, principally Muriel who is very talented and artistic). It was a long, busy task and I fretted over wanting to do a good job.

Apparently it was well worth it. The Bishop insisted he’d never seen a Fancy Stall look anything like ours; we more than doubled the money any of the other stalls made. Our $280-plus looked quite spectacular in view of the record of Fancy Stalls rarely hitting $100. Still, I’m ready for a little relaxation.

 

Bucher and I are thinking about taking the children to Campeche or Mérida for a few days, perhaps over New Year’s. But it isn’t decided.