Ruth Bennett introduced herself to me in the early 1990s at the end of a pre-concert lecture I presented for the Van Cliburn Series. Her actual words I do not recall, but the force of her perceptive wit struck me instantly.

Oh, how grand it has been to know Ruth. Her cheer and kindness shine from her face. You have to realize that Ruth now is 97. She grew up in a world we read about in history books. Her grandfather was a master builder of horse-drawn coaches and sleds, some of which are in museums today. She remembers as a child hearing Hitler’s voice on the radio, although she survived the war in the relative safety of a village in what would become East Germany called Langewiesen. Still, anyone living through that time had to surmount endless difficulties.

She came to the US after the Second World War in 1949. As things turned out, she ended up the sole support of her children at a time when women had difficulty finding good employment. With three little kids and no extended family, Ruth’s circumstances were not easy.

Still, she made a decision to go to college to complete her teaching degree—a radical decision back then. Cobbling together childcare, taking endless bus rides, and foregoing sleep, she was able to earn her degree. She raised her three children and went on to teach fifth grade for twenty-seven years, as well as guide many troubled young people through the GED program. Today it is not unusual for adults, parents and grandparents themselves, to come up to her and thank her for being the salvation of their childhood education or one of the only people in their lives who showed them love.

Ruth is a living encyclopedia of German culture. Name a German author and famous lines from that writer flow happily from her mouth. The same happens with melodies upon mention of German music. Even now, she sings and dances the ancient poems of her childhood with our grandchildren.

There are so many things Ruth has taught me. She has shared endless stories with me, including one of a time during World War II, when all of the boys were off to war, and she was chosen to play the role of Johann von Goethe in the annual festivities surrounding his birthday (held even in wartime). She has shown me an old picture of that occasion, clad in an 18th-century waistcoat and bursting with pride.

But today, I want to share a description she sent to me in anticipation of St. Nicholas’ Day. I hope you will enjoy her reminiscences on this, the Second Sunday of Advent. She begins by referencing our Advent Calendar:

You are leading me again to a wonderful Advent. Ours always started on St. Nicolas’ birthday, Dec. 6. That’s when I hung my Strumpf [stocking] on the rail of the stairs. It was filled with nuts and some Pfeffernüsse [hard, ball-shaped cookies dusted with powdered sugar]. . . . Pfeffernüsse without Pfeffer [pepper] were the best! We also had pine wreaths on a table, lighting an extra candle each Sunday of Advent. There were four, adding a candle each Sunday till Christmas Eve, when we saw the entire tree for the first time.

I remember, I had to hold my Opa’s [grandpa’s] hand and wait in the dark outside the living room till we stepped out of that dark room into the wonderful light of the tree. It was blinding almost. From four candles on the [Advent] wreath – we stepped into a room with dozens of candles on the tree! We had to rub our eyes from all that sudden, wonderful light and find our presents, spread out, not wrapped under and around the tree.

My father at the piano played and sang and we sang along and found our presents, unwrapped. Then we laughed – so happy, tried on new clothes. I was the only child. All the adults’ eyes were shining–there were presents for them as well, I hugged my new dolls. . . . l loved my new doll house that had electric lights and a couple of light switches like my Oma’s. We loved and were loved.

l adored my Oma and Opa, my parents, and uncles. The local baker had made Stollen [sweet Christmas loaves] by carefully kneading and patting them like a mother puts diapers on her baby. His name was Onkel Hasso Jauch. We had waited by the huge brick oven till he pulled the Stollen out with a mile-long wooden shovel and each walked home to our own house in this tiny town, carrying our warm, fresh Stollen. I can smell them now.

Can’t you just smell the wonderful fresh cut pines and the freshly baked Stollen?

We went to church later and sang Silent Night and Ihr Kinderlein Kommet. . . . The next day we visited our friends and neighbors. Strangely enough, my new doll Inge had a brother Klaus next door. He wore a Tyrolean hat. . . . I can see it now.

Nobody forgot the Marzipan. It was shaped into small loaves, like bread. Ruprecht—Knecht Ruprecht, the German Santa’s forerunner—came into each house (Langeweiesen is small)—and he said:

Von drauss vom Walde komm’ ich her,
Ich muss euch sagen, es Weihnachtet sehr.
Sagt mir was ich’s hierinnen find’!
Sind’s güte Kind, sind’s böse Kind?

I come here from the forest
I have to tell you that Christmas is very much underway.
Tell me what I will find herein?
Are you a good child, or an evil child?

I promise, I was a “gütes Kind” just like the rest of the Kinder in Langewiesen!

I wish I could share the actual person of Ruth with each of you! May you be blessed to have such a person as Ruth in your and your children’s lives. If so, treasure every moment together. And let me close by sharing Ruth’s concluding wish in her letter with all of you:

I wish you the finest Fest, the happy laughter of the children, the love that floats around you, the candles, the music, and all Greetings.

Your Ruth