Ours will be a little Christmas this year. No big deal. No winter vacation. No decking the halls with Christmas memorabilia as in years past. No expensive presents or major gifts (that I know of, tee!). No, my husband and dogs and I will have to be content sharing love and appreciation and maybe a hot toddy. The Christmas lack, merchandise-wise, is due to me … still waiting to hear back from our federal government. Remember around Easter/Passover when I blogged about starting a new nonprofit to advocate for journalism and journalists? That’s my one and only attempt at starting a business and relying on final approval from our government, as my work will be not-profit driven, just a passionate cause.
As for spreading yuletide cheer, I’ll spend a few dollars on small gifties. I won’t say exactly what, just in case a recipient is reading. But suffice it to say, my contributions this year will be stocking stuffers.
But oh how I’ve enjoyed some wonderful Christmases past! My earliest memories are sealed in black-and-white snapshots: of artificial Christmas trees, green or white, decorated with fragile bulbs of electric red, yellow, blue and green. And each day coming home from elementary school to find another huge box wrapped in red paper with Santas and reindeer or wreaths. Inside may have been a girl’s vanity dressing table or a psychedelic-designed record player or a new doll like Velvet. My parents spared no expense on the holiday, so it seemed. But actually my sibling and I were learning some valuable lessons. In those days my father worked at Sears and had a big employee discount. So he allowed us to pick anything we wanted from the annual Wishbook up to $50 each. We didn’t know about taxes but often would pick toys totaling right up to $49.99, never daring to go over $50. It really was generous of Dad.
During the ’70s I usually chose the latest Barbie dolls, clothes and accessories. My entire collection is from the closets of TV’s Mary Richards and Rhoda Morgenstern. One year Santa gave me something I did not order: a Barbie Karosel Kitchen. It ran on large batteries that needed frequent replacement, but it contained six sections, one with a laundry machine, next a clothes dryer, a kitchen sink, dishwasher, oven, and refrigerator. You’d press a button to turn the red Karosel and press another button for sounds resembling cleaning, washing or cooking. It was kinda strange, especially since I didn’t ask for it. Why would a kid want to spend time with Barbie pretending to do chores?
It took a couple of years for me to find Barbie clothes in the Wishbook. But I ended up with lots of fashions like assorted boots and heels, large round pastel eyewear, all to go with miniskirts and maxi dresses of the era. I ordered a Barbie car, an orange two-seat convertible; a tent with sleeping bags and tiny outdoor cooking gear; and my most cherished present a Barbie sleep-and-keep case. The case stored two Barbies, but I squeezed in my Ken dolls, too, and a pile of clothes and grooming accessories. One side allowed for a pull-down bed—a tribute to the ’70s with wall art like Love and the peace sign and a groovy flowery bedspread of bright orange and hot pink.
The Christmas blog
Of all my childhood preteen memories, Christmas 1973 is the most important. It was the year my parents surprised me with the most enormous and heavy present too big to fit under the Christmas tree. I had no idea what it could be as it sat there a couple of weeks tagged with my name. So when the unwrapping arrived, I found this humongous gift was a real stereo system complete with two large separate speakers and a turntable/FM AM radio/8-track player encased in a faux brown wood compartment, placed above a rack for my growing record collection. It was the gift I never knew I wanted.
My parents, however, had an ulterior motive in providing me such an expensive and totally unexpected present. For a couple of years, I had a habit of taking over their stereo console in the den, turning their country radio stations to rock and listening to my records on their grand system instead of my little kid record player. I was of an age where I could distinguish the audible nuances between a record player and a stereo. I was 11. So they set me up with a stereo system popular with teens and young adults. Wow! They just wanted me to listen to the music I liked in my bedroom. Guess they tired of hearing Grand Funk’s We’re an American Band over and over and over again. I didn’t realize it back then, but that gift made such a life-altering impact as I grew into a serious music lover. Too, I realized I had to be mature handling a real stereo system. For a couple of years I wouldn’t allow my friends to touch it.
By the end of the ’70s, Christmas was getting to be a drag. I was old enough to realize how much things cost, no longer able to give my friends individual gifts anymore. By the time I was 18, our family didn’t even put up a tree let alone bother with wrapping gifts. Still, unexpectedly my mother got me a large cylinder basket and matching rattan chair from Pier 1. She knew I loved hanging out at that store, soaking up its exotic Eastern world allure. I walked into my bedroom after work one night, turned on the light, and there were the furnishings made in India or some place, awaiting my delight and appropriate thankfulness.
It’s not that I’m depressed this year, but Christmas is a time of massive amounts of stuff including food that just makes us all fat and fatter. It is extremely hard to have Christmas in moderation, isn’t it? But when money is sparse, that’s how it has to be. My parents always recalled their impoverished Depression-era childhood Christmases, when the gift would be hair supplies, socks, and if lucky assorted nuts still in their shells and an orange. Just the smell of an orange brings back Christmas memories, my folks say year round. Not for me. It’s the smell of Scotch tape! The connection must be from wrapping gifts during the holidays.
This year I am not pulling out the Christmas boxes and displaying all the seasonal collections around the house. I did splurge on purchasing one new Christmas decoration: a replica of a mid-century white porcelain Christmas tree with tiny multi-colored plastic bulbs. It operates on batteries and has a four-hour timer. Our house was built in 1946, and I had seen the original tree décor at antique shops. So I knew it would fit the past Christmases spent by the previous family of our home. That lone colorful white Christmas tree, placed on a table, is enough to celebrate the season, that plus the wreath on the front door. And for the first time, I’m not mailing Christmas cards. Sorry ya’ll. I’ll create some festive image and season’s greeting on the computer and mass email to friends and family.
More importantly is not to forget what we’re celebrating along with the birth of Christ and the beginning of a new world religion if not an optimistic worldview—based on forgiveness and love for all mankind. Winter solstice, an ancient celebration of earth and the changing season, occurs around the same time as Christmas, and it is no coincidence. It doesn’t matter when Christ was born, but the timing in December wraps up, so to speak, a holy day of respect and recognition of our home planet and our family: of cold and warmth, bitter and sweet, past and present, concern and comfort. Christmas is what we make it, for ourselves and for others. So happy holidaze everyone this year! Let us be merry and bright and full of good cheer!