Early Christmases

 

Christmas has always been big with my family. My grandparents became the matriarch and patriarch of the extended family once the grandchildren started arriving. Their big house could hold us all, and there was always a magnificent tree, gaily decorated with ornaments, lights, and lots of tinsel.  The tradition of the decorated tree carried over to the little cottage we lived in, across the way from my grandparents’ house.

I was only six days old on my first Christmas and so I can only enjoy memories of it through the pictures Mom passed along to me.  Here my beloved Grandma holds me in front of her beautiful tree.  I’m sure because I was so new, I got passed around to all the aunts and uncles. I believe the picture was taken on Christmas Day and we were all at my grandparents’ house to have dinner after church.

I have only one vague memory of the following Christmas, 1955. I was only a year old, so I don’t remember my surprise at finding a stocking hanging in my crib.  I do remember that stocking because I had it throughout most of my childhood.  When my brother and I were old enough to start waking my parents before the crack of dawn, they had the brilliant idea to allow us to open all our stocking presents on our own.  Opening and playing with whatever little toys were inside and eating the little snacks (apples, oranges) kept us busy and fed until the sun came up. By the time we were bored with the stocking, my parents were more inclined to let us wake them up.

My parents struggled financially and would sometimes accept help from family. For example, my grandfather was a skilled fisherman and would often provide us with part of his catch. In other cases, however, my parents were too proud to take help offered. One year, I got a Campbell’s soup doll for Christmas.  I loved her and treated her as all little girls treat their baby dolls.  I had a little rocking chair and would rock my baby to sleep.

Years later, my mom confided that my parents felt guilty that year, 1957, when I was 3. They were so broke they couldn’t afford gifts and refused to take any present money from my grandparents or other family. They ate a lot of Campbell’s soup and saved a bunch of labels to send to the company. In return, Campbell’s sent their mascot, the little girl doll.  Mom thought I was so sad that year because Susie (my name for her) was the only toy I received. My grandparents, aunts and uncles all gave me clothes and other things I’d need.

I was very surprised when Mom told me that.  My memory is how much I loved Susie and enjoyed playing with her.  It occurs to me now that too many toys all at once isn’t such a great idea.  I remember years when there were lots and lots of presents.  It was almost overwhelming, and I didn’t get as much of a connection to Chatty Cathy as I had had with Susie.  I wonder what my kids thought of all the presents they opened and if they felt any emotional connection to the toys. I’ll have to ask them.

One year, Grandma gave me a stuffed cat that she’d handmade. Because it was especially for me, I loved Meow as strongly as I’d loved Susie.  I wish I had a picture of me with Meow but if it ever existed it’s gone now.  The memory is there though: a soft little pink kitty made with corduroy fabric, stuffed with something soft and comforting. Meow had little black eyes, a little black nose, and a happy smile on her face.  The original Meow was ruined from a spill of hot wax, and I grieved so much that Grandma made me a new one. Meow II was similar but just not the same.

I seem to love most gifts from the heart, whether they are handmade or given free by saving soup labels. Nice memories.

 

 

The Old Sears Catalog

I always remember December 4^th because my mom told me that was her due date. She remained uncomfortably pregnant with me until the 19^th. I always felt a little hurt about her impatience in waiting for me to arrive until I was pregnant with my first child. My due date was May 1; he was born May 10^th and I was oh so more than ready. I then understood what my mom was talking about.

Yesterday I posted on my blog that I wanted to avoid all the garbage going on around us for the Christmas season. And then, of course, 45 opened his mouth and said he’d like to overturn the Constitution. Now I’m going to restrain myself because getting involved in that drama is just going to give me agita. There won’t be any consequences (if any) until much later than Christmas anyhow.

 And then I read John Pavlovitz’s blog entry called “An Open Letter To Those Who Still Give A Damn.” That bolstered my conviction to set it aside. Yes, I give a damn and I still give a damn, but I need a break. I’m becoming frazzled and irritated, waiting for the next outrageous thing. Now I tell myself: can you do anything about it?  No? Then set it aside and enjoy the season.

Another tweeter asked if we remember the Sears catalog and that brought back some warm, fun memories.  Yes, indeed, I remember the Sears catalog. We got one during the fall season every year. My brother and I began anticipating its arrival even before Halloween!  We all pored through it, parents and children alike.  My brother and I looked through it most often, drooling.

When it was my turn to go through the toy pages, I circled everything that appealed to me in red pen ink.  I knew Santa couldn’t bring me everything I wanted but I knew I would get something. My brother did the same when it was his turn. We dogeared the pages so that when it came time to write to Santa, we would remember everything we wanted.

Just before Christmas, we were allowed to cut paper dolls and paper toys from the catalog. I’m guessing now my parents were done with their shopping and didn’t need it anymore. What fun that was! We would play together or alone with our paper dolls and that activity kept us busy right up until Christmas Eve.

When my children were little, Sears changed their procedure and didn’t mail the catalogs. We could pick one up from the nearby store itself. That was a special trip because my kids looked forward to exploring a catalog as much as my brother and I did.  If I could, I would pick up more than one catalog.  It’s not easy for two kids to share a catalog as my brother and I did, never mind three little ones all eager to have a long look.  My kids also cut paper dolls and paper toys out of the books.

Now they are all grown up, and I don’t know if Sears even has a catalog anymore. I don’t know if Sears has any stores open at all.  I don’t shop in malls or any stores other than Walmart anymore, not since the pandemic. Our grandchildren are either grown or live out-of-state and the same is true of our great grandchildren.

I hadn’t thought about Sears catalogs in years.  I was happy to be reminded.

 

The Holiday Season

 

The Holiday Season

Thanksgiving always starts the holiday season for me. It culminates on January 6^th, Three Kings Day. I love the season and Christmas music is my go-to year-round when I need to decompress. 

There continues to be so much hatred and divisiveness in this country. I choose to put it in a closet for the next four or five weeks.  That’s a technique I learned in childhood. It’s not always a functional thing to do but it does save me physically and emotionally from stress and grief temporarily.

When I was growing up on Long Island, the Christmas season was something we kids looked forward to all year. It seemed to take such a long time to arrive as we slowly got ready for it: Thanksgiving dinner, decorations, choosing a tree.  Until I was about 7 or 8, my Deaf father would read “The Night Before Christmas” aloud. He read painstakingly and pointed to each word (and that’s how I learned to read before I started kindergarten).  When I hear the story read aloud, I flash back to my dad’s voice.  It was flat and without inflection but a loving, comforting sound.

I remember Christmas Eve services. Most members of our family attended the Presbyterian Church of Islip. Our Sunday school class did a little program at the beginning of one year’s service. I remember the minister and my grandma came to our house to ask my parents if I could be the narrator.  I had lines to learn, and my parents practiced with me, reading my lips as I practiced my lines.

The stained-glass windows were beautiful in the dim light, and I remember looking around at all the people pictured in the windows.  The church had a ginormous organ with pipes that reached to the ceilings. The organ music was loud and comforting, and I could feel the vibrations inside my body. My parents relied on instruments like that to enjoy music. Most of the service was boring for them because there were no sign language interpreters. When the choirs sang with their lovely voices, my parents only saw lips moving. There were no vibrations from the voices.  Ah, but when the organ played, my parents’ eyes lit up with joy and they’d smile.

In later years, after we moved to Maryland, there were no more church services. My parents drank heavily, fought and there was DV. But they always had a truce for a few weeks during the Christmas season. I think it’s true that most people are imbued with the joy of the season.

But why?

For a child, I think it’s all about Santa.  Yes, I learned the Christmas Story in Sunday School. Those were the “olden days” and far removed from anything I’d experienced. Spending the night in a manger with animals? Being turned away everywhere else? The rejection weighed heavily on me. It was much better and happier to focus on Santa, that jolly old man with all the toys.

There’s always a point when the truth comes out. There is no Santa per se, but he represents the spirit of loving and giving. One of my favorite pictures is of a Santa kneeling by the cradle of baby Jesus. Santa’s act of love and giving reflects Jesus’ teachings.

Not everyone is Christian. Not everyone celebrates Christmas or recognizes Santa Claus.  Over the years, Santa’s come to represent commercialism and gimmie-ism.

It doesn’t matter what we believe. What matters the most to me about Christmas is the spirit of caring for others, showing appreciation for them, and caring for them.  Gifts don’t really matter in the end, either. What matters is the gift of love that goes with it.

I try to feel this way all year round because we should not have this loving, giving feeling for just six weeks of the year.  I must admit, though, my inner candle’s flame is brighter and stronger this month.