Depression babies and children of the World War II years, my sister and I anticipated the annual Christmas shopping expedition as eagerly as we did Christmas morning.

Sometime in November or December when the narrow dirt road leading from our home to “the highway” was neither deep with mud nor clogged with snow and daddy had to go to Ottumwa anyway, our whole family went “Christmas shopping.” War time gasoline and tire rationing severely limited trips to town.

Daddy always gave my sister and I each a dollar bill to “go shopping.” We were prepared for extensive shopping, having devoted many hours to planning exactly the right gift for each family member as well as the people whose names we had drawn for the school and church gift exchanges. A total of 12 presents.

With our riches firmly in hand, we browsed the five and dime stores on Main Street.

Together we chose a gift for each of our parents, our grandparents who lived with us and our little brother plus his birthday, two days before Christmas. We shared the cost, equally.

Actually, I don’t remember a scarcity of gift possibilities within our price range. A big red handkerchief, socks or shaving soap for Grandpa and Daddy; dainty handkerchief, talcum powder, pretty dish or other small household item always pleased Mom and Grandma.; and for a little boy, the choice seemed endless, small car, truck, tractor, jeep, tank, anything with wheels, toy soldiers or toy cap pistol or rifle and supply of caps. Toys of violence were OK, in fact, very popular.

Pennies counted in those days. To avoid paying one cent sales tax, we purchased each under 15 cents separately.

After family gifts, we each shopped for our exchange gifts. Price range was always between 10 and 15 cents. If either or both were so unlucky as to have drawn a boy, he was sure to get a puzzle, a model airplane, marbles or something with wheels. Girls were way more interesting. Barrettes or hair ribbons, maybe; but perfume was coveted by every girl we knew. Perfume cost ten cents plus two cents luxury tax. Choosing was difficult. Evening in Paris, a powerful scent bottled in dark blue, was extremely popular. On the other hand, almost everybody wanted a miniature colored lamp each of which contained an equally powerful scent. The sales clerk kept watch as each bottle was repeatedly fingered by a pair of little girls pondering the choices, a red lamp, a green lamp, a sort of yellowish gold lamp; or would the recipient prefer the definitely exciting sounding Evening in Paris in the blue bottle? Eventually the purchase was made and a grateful sales clerk was free to serve more affluent customers.

Our shopping nearly done, we separated to each buy a gift for the other. A 12-cent gift to be precise. Of course, it was going to be perfume, but we had to keep up the pretense of secrecy and leave the cosmetic counter in opposite directions, only to sneak back when each thought the other wasn’t looking.

Often we ended our shopping spree with a few pennies left for “next time.”