Christmas Past
This will be my fifty-ninth Christmas on this planet Earth and the first one that I have ever spent away from home. Well that’s not totally true, but more about that later.
This year my husband, Alan, and I are flying to Geneva, taking a train to Fribourg, Switzerland to meet our youngest daughter, Hannah, who is spending a semester abroad. She attends school in Maine at Bates College and is a Junior.
We will help Hannah get packed up, spend a day sightseeing, then head to Munich to meet up with our other daughter, Aspen, who is a vet student in Edinburgh, Scotland. The four of us will spend a day in Munich and take a train to Passau where we will start our barge trip up the Danube. Then we have 9 glorious days cruising the river, stopping at Christmas markets on the way. We will visit Saltzburg and many other villages on our way to the final destination in Budapest. Christmas day will be spent somewhere along the river and we will spend a few days in Budapest before heading home on Dec. 31st. (Hannah insisted on being home for New Year’s Eve with her friends.)
Now, don’t get me wrong, I am really looking forward to spending some “quality” time with my family and the trip sounds absolutely fantastic, but I have to admit to some qualms about not spending “the” day at home around my own Christmas tree and eating our traditional Christmas dinner. I’m not doing all my baking, present wrapping, decorating, nor shopping for that matter (don’t miss the later). It just doesn’t seem like Christmas.
Christmas has always been a magical time for me. I grew up in Ketchum, Idaho (Sun Valley) where Christmas meant snow, sleighs, and bells - all the accoutrements that the carols extol. My family consisted of my Mom and Dad, a younger sister, Nancy, three dogs, and any number of cats. We lived in a beautiful log home that my dad built. My parents owned a clothing/shoe/toy/general merchandise store so Christmas was always a very busy time of the year for them.
My sister and I always resented the store because it kept our parents so busy; we didn’t take many family vacations because the store’s busiest time was always during school vacations. Regardless, the store provided us with a very comfortable living and it was always fun to see how many celebrities we could catch sight of. I made Christmas money by wrapping presents for our customers. I got pretty good at it too, although I’ll never forget the time Ann Southern (if you remember her you will be telling your age) came into the store and refused to let anyone by Mom wrap her presents - HAD to be the owner who wrapped HER presents. We all got a chuckle out of it. One time I was helping out by ringing up customer’s purchases and this guy handed me his goods. I looked up to collect the money and then kept looking up and up and up. It was James Arness leaning on the top of the cash register - boy was he TALL (my sister once sold gum to John Wayne), but I digress.
Christmas started for my parents when the decorations went up in the store, but Christmas really started for me the day after Thanksgiving. My dad’s brother, Uncle Art, and his family lived in Twin Falls then Boise and we would always spend Thanksgiving with them while they spent Christmas with us. We would go shopping the day after Thanksgiving, well, the females would. Daddy and Uncle Art stayed home and, well, to be honest, I’m not sure what they did, but they did NOT go shopping. Mom would give us our Christmas money and we would separate. My cousin Karen and I would shop together while Nancy and Gayle would head out.
On Christmas Eve the kids would all sleep in our guest house (a bedroom over the detached garage) while the parents slept in the house. We weren’t supposed to wake the adults before 6:30 which was a major concession on our parts. Our poor parents usually had minor hangovers, but they always cheerfully rose to the occasion. One Christmas, Nancy woke up first and got us all up about 6:30, we decided to let the folks sleep for another half hour (we were slightly older and much wiser). About 7:00 we went screaming into the house, woke everyone up, and started tearing into our presents. We were about halfway through when someone looked at the clock and it was 3:30 AM! Nancy had read the hands wrong and woke us up at 2:30. Needless-to-say, the adults sent us back to bed, and we woke up much later to finish our destruction of the pretty packages. I don’t think the adults ever forgave us for that one - and, I think Nancy got a watch for Christmas the next year.
I love the anticipation of presents, I love looking at the parcels under the tree, I love the colorful wrappings and ribbons, and I love not knowing what is in those delicious treasures. One particular Christmas, I was alone with Mom and Aunt Ruth, they left me in the car while they had a noontime martini (yes it was safe in those days). All the bags and boxes were in the backseat, taunting me with their mysterious contents. I don’t remember how old I was, but it had to be around 9 or 10, and the temptation proved too much. I opened the boxes and knew the contents of almost every one of presents that year. It was awful! I was a jeans and cowboy boots kid, but that year I got the prettiest dress I had ever seen, I loved it, however, knowing that it was under the tree, and what was in almost all the other boxes, was very demoralizing. To this day, you can leave an unwrapped present on my lap and I will slam my eyes shut and go running from the room. I NEVER peeked again!
I think my favorite present was a huge flashlight given to me from my father. I picked up the package with my name on it and opened it to find this wonderful flashlight. I burst into tears and handed it to Daddy, saying I was sorry that I had unwrapped his present from me. I thought I must have put my name on it instead of his in the “to” space. I was heartbroken that I had spoiled his surprise. He looked puzzled then started grinning as he headed under the tree to come up with a similarly shaped present. He handed it to me and told me to read the sticker. It said “To: Daddy, From: Barb.” I was seriously confused until it dawned on me that we had bought each other the same present! We both had a good laugh for many years about how well we knew each other. I cherished that flashlight for many years.
I used to get up at least a half hour early for school once the Christmas tree was decorated, just to sit in the early morning dark and look at the glistening lights. I would grab my breakfast and sit on the couch right next to the tree with only the Christmas lights illuminating the room. I would take strands of tinsel and straighten them out - I was not happy when they started selling only the “fake” tinsel that wasn’t all wrinkled up. I would sit there either until it was time to trudge through the snow to the bus, or the sun came up and washed out the colored sparkle from the tree lights. Once school was out for the holidays I would get up extra early just to sit in the dark with the tree lights - yes being a born and bred morning person helped. Sitting there staring at the Christmas lights allowed my youthful imagination to run wild. I would dream of fantasy lives where I was always the heroine, horses that only I could ride, dogs that could talk to only me, and yes, sometimes even boys. It was my time to dream and the magic of Christmas made me feel that anything was possible.
We lived a few miles from town and frequently lost power during the snowstorms. The kids loved it - the parents hated it! One particularly heavy storm dropped about three feet of snow overnight and, needless-to-say, the power went out - this meant no turkey dinner. But I come from inventive folks, so Mom just popped the turkey in the fireplace and cooked it there until the power came back on. It was delicious, if a little charred on one side.
Decorating the tree was always one of my favorite things to do. Mom insisted on hanging the lights herself. Nancy and I got to hang the ornaments and then the piece de resistance - the tinsel! We were supposed to take each individual strand and carefully drape it over the branches - yeah, right! We were diligent as long as Mom was watching, but the minute her back was turned it was grab a handful and fling as high as we could, hoping to hit the tree. Most of the tinsel would land in a huge clump, looking like a big blob of silvery snot dripping off the tree. After we went to bed, Mom would remove the clumps (always leaving a few at the back of the tree so we wouldn’t know she knew what we did) and restring all the beautiful silver strands. Oh, how I loved our tree.
It’s funny, I don’t remember a single ornament on our trees from when I was growing up but today I can tell you the history of each and every bauble I hang. I tried hard to instill my love of the Christmas tree in my daughters, but I failed. Not only did they bitch and moan when I asked for help getting everything down, they had no interest whatsoever in helping me decorate. I’m not sure where I went wrong, but it is a great disappointment to me. Oh don’t get me wrong, they love Christmas, just not my Christmas. They hate wrapping presents, they hate playing Santa on Christmas morning, and they don’t like half the goodies I cook for Christmas dinner. However, they do love to decorate the sugar cookies. I really don’t like sugar cookies and they would be the first ones I give up, but not as long as my girls spend Christmas at home. That is our tradition, I roll them and cut them out, and they decorate. Hannah likes Red Hots, and always makes at least two cookies that are covered bell to runner with Red Hots, one for herself and one for her Dad. Aspen doesn’t like Red Hots, but sugar cookies are her favorite of all the Christmas goodies.
I think one of the reasons that my daughters don’t share the same excitements about Christmas is that Alan is Jewish. He is gracious to let me celebrate and he does partake in the festivities, but the whole holiday is on me. I have to do all the decorating, all the cooking, and all the shopping.
One Christmas, we were living with his parents in New York while we waited to close on our house. Alan’s Mom absolutely hated Christmas. I didn’t understand this for the longest time, as I don’t celebrate it as a religious holiday but one of good will and family togetherness. After all these years, I think I have a better idea behind the reasons for her dislike. Can you imagine being surrounded for almost two months with Christmas carols, Christmas decorations, Christmas lights, Christmas cards, Christmas menus, Christmas advertisements, etc., etc., etc? It’s one thing to participate in it all but quite another to be buried alive in all its hype when it isn’t your holiday.
I certainly respected her wishes in her own home and tried to avoid my usual holiday euphoria so we decided to celebrate Christmas when we moved into our new home, which turned out to be not long after Christmas. In order to preserve my traditions however, Alan drove me around a couple of nights so I could look at the decorated houses, he bought me an ornament during a visit to the Brooklyn Museum of Art, and I listened to Christmas carols when everyone was at work during the day. I hung my ornament on the bottom of a spider plant that was in our room and we put our presents under that. It was really pathetic, but it made me feel good (I think the first thing I unpacked when we moved was my fake Christmas tree).
Christmas means family to me. My Dad died when I was 14 and when my Mom remarried, I gained a brother, Steve. He is only a few months older than me, so needless-to-say, Mom and Ray had their hands full. Uncle Art and his family continued to come for a few Christmases after Mom remarried, but only for a couple of years. All the kids were getting older and, of course, his brother was no longer there.
I remember being really sad that they weren’t joining us for Christmas that year, but it turned out that we had a wonderful Christmas anyway. Our family had changed, but we were still family. When Ray died, 20 years later, Mom, Nancy and her husband, Alan and I, and all the grandkids were in the limo going to the cemetery when Steve looked around and made the comment that although we were in the “family” car, none of us were really related (Nancy and I were both adopted). It was obvious that family doesn’t have to mean blood relatives - WE were family.
My first Christmas away from home was celebrated in Alaska in 1972. I met Alan in Alaska and began my lone quest for Christmas there. We lived up north for 7 years and each Christmas got better and better. I continued to buy only non-breakable ornaments for my tree (I moved around too much for glass ornaments), and we began our tradition of a Christmas Eve Party. Most of our friends were without family, transplanted like us, from the Lower 48 or Jewish and Christmas Eve could be pretty lonely. I decided to make a new family so we invited all our friends to come over on Christmas Eve. I would cook for days getting ready - all sorts of finger foods and desserts. We continued this tradition when we moved to New York and then to Seattle - up until the girls were about 6 and 10. The parties kept getting smaller and smaller as all our families were growing up and demanding other excursions.
Outdoor decorations come and go at our house depending on how energetic I get as I am on my own when it comes to getting them hung. Alan will help if I specifically ask, usually holding the ladder. Christmas 1994 was rather special for my family as I had just spent 3 and a half months in the hospital, nearly not coming out kicking. I was bound and determined that I was going to have my Christmas party despite the fact that one of my legs was severely disfigured and painful, but we decided to hold it the week before Christmas. I did my usual three days of cooking in five and loads of people showed up. Towards the end of the party I was bemoaning the fact that I couldn’t get any decorations up and teasing Alan about not being willing to help me. The next morning four families (two of which were Jewish) showed up and decorated the outside of my house. They had Alan running back and forth to the hardware store for plugs, outlets, and extension cords. It was amazing and I was so touched and grateful.
We owned a house on Lake Wenatchee for several years. The “cabin”, which was the most wonderful place in the world to spend Christmas. We almost always had a white Christmas and sitting in front of the window gazing at the lake was an experience not to be forgotten.
It was a bit of a pain getting everything to the cabin, but I would have all the presents wrapped and in shopping bags. I would load up my van with sacks of packages, bags of food, skis and snowboards, and usually the girls, as soon as school was out. Alan would come over when his vacation started, usually two days before Christmas, with his car loaded with everything I couldn’t get in my van (and stuff I inevitably forgot). I would decorate our fake tree and the house, cook madly for 3-4 days, and wake up on Christmas morning, usually before the girls. We had a deal with Alan, that they wouldn’t come upstairs until at least 9:00. On the stroke of 9:00 they would come sneaking up the stairs and run into the bedroom to wake up their dad, who would blearily stumble out of bed and flop into the nearest chair (he eventually woke up about half way through the present opening).
The cabin was the most beautiful place to spend the holidays. After Christmas we would frequently have some of the girl’s friends come stay with us for New Years. They would go skiing, watch movies, build forts and have all sorts of fun in the snow.
One of the oddest Christmas’s I ever spent was on an island outside of Petersburg, Alaska. Being the late 60’s/early 70’s Alan and I had the dream of being self sufficient and living “in the bush.” In Alaska, this means living out in the woods, with no electricity or running water. We lived about a mile from Petersburg, by water, in a ten-man Army tent set on a platform with a tin roof over us. We had a Queen-sized bed built as a loft, a recliner, wood heating stove, pantry, library, and entertainment center. Mind you, there wasn’t much room to move! I cooked on a Coleman stove and Coleman oven (we went through two of them in a year) and managed to make a delicious Christmas dinner - even if the rolls were a tad crispy. We had friends living out there with us about a quarter of a mile down the beach so it was still a “family” Christmas.
I put up our 4’ fake tree and decorated it with my non-breakable ornaments. I put lights on because Alan said I could start our very small generator for a half-hour each night. We heard later that fishing boats coming back into Petersburg, got very confused when they saw a Christmas tree all lit up where there shouldn’t have been anything at all.
I stopped putting tinsel on the tree that year when I spent a good deal of time pulling it out of our cat’s rear ends , usually attached to bit of poop. For some reason the cats loved to eat it and no matter how high I put it they would still manage to swallow it. It was pretty funny to see the cats running around dragging their turd, but it got very old quickly. It was definitely a memorable Christmas and I thanked the heavens for the Sears catalog and their mail delivery.
I’ve always had dogs in my life and it was mandatory for me to hang their stocking at Christmas along with ours. I have kept almost all of the stockings and every year when I open the decorations box, I remember each and every dog. It’s always a bittersweet memory, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. I made Alan a stocking when we were in Alaska because, obviously, he didn’t have one from childhood. I wasn’t very creative in those days, so it is just green tree material sewn in the shape of a stocking and has his name on it. However, when it came to making the girl’s stockings, I was into cross-stitch. Both of their stockings are intricately designed and very cute. I did have one unfortunate problem with Hannah’s however.
For some reason, her stocking was very small. I got the brilliant idea a few years back to make it bigger. We were still spending Christmas’s at the cabin at the time, but I had a sewing machine over there, so when I went to town I bought some Christmas material. I very carefully took her’s apart, cut out a larger backing, sewed it all back together and promptly lost it for two years. For the life of me, I have no idea how I did that, as all the decorations went into the same boxes and stored in the attic at the cabin. But I couldn’t find it no matter where I looked. I bought her a new stocking and I’m not sure it bothered her in the least. However, it drove me crazy: not only could I not find it, but to me, it was her special stocking. Somehow it magically turned up - in the decorations boxes - our last year at the cabin. I have no idea where it was hiding, but I felt much better.
I still have the original stocking that my Mom hung for me as a child. It traveled with me every time I moved and was the first thing hung for Christmas. It became a bit (a lot) worse for the wear after hanging over the wood stove in Petersburg, and there was no way it would survive a washing. I finally broke down and made myself a new one. I guess in the back of my mind, I don’t really consider it “my” special stocking as I made one similar to Alan’s and let it go at that. My special stocking resides alongside the dog stockings and is greeted with a smile every year.
Christmas cards have always seemed to me to be work with a capital W. My mom would spend hours and hours, handwriting each and every card to everyone she ever knew. I did (sort of) maintain this tradition, but discovered the joy of the dreaded Christmas newsletter. Actually, I’m not really sure why it is dreaded as I find them entertaining and informative. In order to add a bit of humor to my yearly missive I used to always add a cartoon on the bottom of the letter. I can’t draw for beans, but I’m very good at labeling my stick figures. I do know that many complained when I stopped drawing them. Once I learned the joys of computers the act of sending Christmas cards became a whole lot easier. I now have my Christmas address ready to print on sticky labels, I can whip out a two page letter complete with photos in about an hour. It now takes me longer to put on the stamps than it does to get them written. If this seems a little impersonal, just remember that if I had to go back to handwritten cards, they wouldn’t be half as informative and you probably couldn’t read my handwriting anyway! I like creating the “dreaded” newsletter and l like receiving them from my friends - so there!
I love change and any new adventure. I love technology and am the first one to buy the latest gadgets. However, I am a major traditionalist when it comes to my holidays and resist any kind of change. I cook the same Thanksgiving dinner my Mom did despite the fact that neither of my girls LIKE Thanksgiving dinner. We have a very dear friend (a “third” daughter) who loves Thanksgiving dinner. Her family celebrates it on Sat. so she comes and eats with us on Thursday - at least someone likes the traditional dinner besides me! (Alan doesn’t count; he eats anything.)
I have to admit that after years of pressure (and being a little sick of turkey by then) I did change my Christmas menu a few years ago. This one seems to have been a hit with my girls for different reasons. I now cook a crown roast and Yorkshire pudding, with various other goodies. Aspen has decided that she likes the burned puddings and Hannah only likes the ones that are not (naturally). I have tried to devise a method for burning some and not others with a minimum of fuss, but haven’t been totally successful as yet. Hopefully, I will get it right before grandkids start coming for Christmas dinner.
I’m not sure why I wrote this little essay but once I started I couldn’t stop. Maybe it’s to share my memories with my friends and family, maybe it was just to help me celebrate in a year that my Christmas will go a totally different direction. One thing that I realized as I was typing away is that my traditions are what makes Christmas special to me and I can’t expect others to find the same joy. They are my memories and my interpretations of those memories that give the traditions meaning. They are not the same memories shared by my daughters. I can only hope that I have instilled some of the magic of Christmas in their hearts and that their memories will manifest themselves into their own traditions.
I can hardly wait to write about Christmas 2008.
This year my husband, Alan, and I are flying to Geneva, taking a train to Fribourg, Switzerland to meet our youngest daughter, Hannah, who is spending a semester abroad. She attends school in Maine at Bates College and is a Junior.
We will help Hannah get packed up, spend a day sightseeing, then head to Munich to meet up with our other daughter, Aspen, who is a vet student in Edinburgh, Scotland. The four of us will spend a day in Munich and take a train to Passau where we will start our barge trip up the Danube. Then we have 9 glorious days cruising the river, stopping at Christmas markets on the way. We will visit Saltzburg and many other villages on our way to the final destination in Budapest. Christmas day will be spent somewhere along the river and we will spend a few days in Budapest before heading home on Dec. 31st. (Hannah insisted on being home for New Year’s Eve with her friends.)
Now, don’t get me wrong, I am really looking forward to spending some “quality” time with my family and the trip sounds absolutely fantastic, but I have to admit to some qualms about not spending “the” day at home around my own Christmas tree and eating our traditional Christmas dinner. I’m not doing all my baking, present wrapping, decorating, nor shopping for that matter (don’t miss the later). It just doesn’t seem like Christmas.
Christmas has always been a magical time for me. I grew up in Ketchum, Idaho (Sun Valley) where Christmas meant snow, sleighs, and bells - all the accoutrements that the carols extol. My family consisted of my Mom and Dad, a younger sister, Nancy, three dogs, and any number of cats. We lived in a beautiful log home that my dad built. My parents owned a clothing/shoe/toy/general merchandise store so Christmas was always a very busy time of the year for them.
My sister and I always resented the store because it kept our parents so busy; we didn’t take many family vacations because the store’s busiest time was always during school vacations. Regardless, the store provided us with a very comfortable living and it was always fun to see how many celebrities we could catch sight of. I made Christmas money by wrapping presents for our customers. I got pretty good at it too, although I’ll never forget the time Ann Southern (if you remember her you will be telling your age) came into the store and refused to let anyone by Mom wrap her presents - HAD to be the owner who wrapped HER presents. We all got a chuckle out of it. One time I was helping out by ringing up customer’s purchases and this guy handed me his goods. I looked up to collect the money and then kept looking up and up and up. It was James Arness leaning on the top of the cash register - boy was he TALL (my sister once sold gum to John Wayne), but I digress.
Christmas started for my parents when the decorations went up in the store, but Christmas really started for me the day after Thanksgiving. My dad’s brother, Uncle Art, and his family lived in Twin Falls then Boise and we would always spend Thanksgiving with them while they spent Christmas with us. We would go shopping the day after Thanksgiving, well, the females would. Daddy and Uncle Art stayed home and, well, to be honest, I’m not sure what they did, but they did NOT go shopping. Mom would give us our Christmas money and we would separate. My cousin Karen and I would shop together while Nancy and Gayle would head out.
On Christmas Eve the kids would all sleep in our guest house (a bedroom over the detached garage) while the parents slept in the house. We weren’t supposed to wake the adults before 6:30 which was a major concession on our parts. Our poor parents usually had minor hangovers, but they always cheerfully rose to the occasion. One Christmas, Nancy woke up first and got us all up about 6:30, we decided to let the folks sleep for another half hour (we were slightly older and much wiser). About 7:00 we went screaming into the house, woke everyone up, and started tearing into our presents. We were about halfway through when someone looked at the clock and it was 3:30 AM! Nancy had read the hands wrong and woke us up at 2:30. Needless-to-say, the adults sent us back to bed, and we woke up much later to finish our destruction of the pretty packages. I don’t think the adults ever forgave us for that one - and, I think Nancy got a watch for Christmas the next year.
I love the anticipation of presents, I love looking at the parcels under the tree, I love the colorful wrappings and ribbons, and I love not knowing what is in those delicious treasures. One particular Christmas, I was alone with Mom and Aunt Ruth, they left me in the car while they had a noontime martini (yes it was safe in those days). All the bags and boxes were in the backseat, taunting me with their mysterious contents. I don’t remember how old I was, but it had to be around 9 or 10, and the temptation proved too much. I opened the boxes and knew the contents of almost every one of presents that year. It was awful! I was a jeans and cowboy boots kid, but that year I got the prettiest dress I had ever seen, I loved it, however, knowing that it was under the tree, and what was in almost all the other boxes, was very demoralizing. To this day, you can leave an unwrapped present on my lap and I will slam my eyes shut and go running from the room. I NEVER peeked again!
I think my favorite present was a huge flashlight given to me from my father. I picked up the package with my name on it and opened it to find this wonderful flashlight. I burst into tears and handed it to Daddy, saying I was sorry that I had unwrapped his present from me. I thought I must have put my name on it instead of his in the “to” space. I was heartbroken that I had spoiled his surprise. He looked puzzled then started grinning as he headed under the tree to come up with a similarly shaped present. He handed it to me and told me to read the sticker. It said “To: Daddy, From: Barb.” I was seriously confused until it dawned on me that we had bought each other the same present! We both had a good laugh for many years about how well we knew each other. I cherished that flashlight for many years.
I used to get up at least a half hour early for school once the Christmas tree was decorated, just to sit in the early morning dark and look at the glistening lights. I would grab my breakfast and sit on the couch right next to the tree with only the Christmas lights illuminating the room. I would take strands of tinsel and straighten them out - I was not happy when they started selling only the “fake” tinsel that wasn’t all wrinkled up. I would sit there either until it was time to trudge through the snow to the bus, or the sun came up and washed out the colored sparkle from the tree lights. Once school was out for the holidays I would get up extra early just to sit in the dark with the tree lights - yes being a born and bred morning person helped. Sitting there staring at the Christmas lights allowed my youthful imagination to run wild. I would dream of fantasy lives where I was always the heroine, horses that only I could ride, dogs that could talk to only me, and yes, sometimes even boys. It was my time to dream and the magic of Christmas made me feel that anything was possible.
We lived a few miles from town and frequently lost power during the snowstorms. The kids loved it - the parents hated it! One particularly heavy storm dropped about three feet of snow overnight and, needless-to-say, the power went out - this meant no turkey dinner. But I come from inventive folks, so Mom just popped the turkey in the fireplace and cooked it there until the power came back on. It was delicious, if a little charred on one side.
Decorating the tree was always one of my favorite things to do. Mom insisted on hanging the lights herself. Nancy and I got to hang the ornaments and then the piece de resistance - the tinsel! We were supposed to take each individual strand and carefully drape it over the branches - yeah, right! We were diligent as long as Mom was watching, but the minute her back was turned it was grab a handful and fling as high as we could, hoping to hit the tree. Most of the tinsel would land in a huge clump, looking like a big blob of silvery snot dripping off the tree. After we went to bed, Mom would remove the clumps (always leaving a few at the back of the tree so we wouldn’t know she knew what we did) and restring all the beautiful silver strands. Oh, how I loved our tree.
It’s funny, I don’t remember a single ornament on our trees from when I was growing up but today I can tell you the history of each and every bauble I hang. I tried hard to instill my love of the Christmas tree in my daughters, but I failed. Not only did they bitch and moan when I asked for help getting everything down, they had no interest whatsoever in helping me decorate. I’m not sure where I went wrong, but it is a great disappointment to me. Oh don’t get me wrong, they love Christmas, just not my Christmas. They hate wrapping presents, they hate playing Santa on Christmas morning, and they don’t like half the goodies I cook for Christmas dinner. However, they do love to decorate the sugar cookies. I really don’t like sugar cookies and they would be the first ones I give up, but not as long as my girls spend Christmas at home. That is our tradition, I roll them and cut them out, and they decorate. Hannah likes Red Hots, and always makes at least two cookies that are covered bell to runner with Red Hots, one for herself and one for her Dad. Aspen doesn’t like Red Hots, but sugar cookies are her favorite of all the Christmas goodies.
I think one of the reasons that my daughters don’t share the same excitements about Christmas is that Alan is Jewish. He is gracious to let me celebrate and he does partake in the festivities, but the whole holiday is on me. I have to do all the decorating, all the cooking, and all the shopping.
One Christmas, we were living with his parents in New York while we waited to close on our house. Alan’s Mom absolutely hated Christmas. I didn’t understand this for the longest time, as I don’t celebrate it as a religious holiday but one of good will and family togetherness. After all these years, I think I have a better idea behind the reasons for her dislike. Can you imagine being surrounded for almost two months with Christmas carols, Christmas decorations, Christmas lights, Christmas cards, Christmas menus, Christmas advertisements, etc., etc., etc? It’s one thing to participate in it all but quite another to be buried alive in all its hype when it isn’t your holiday.
I certainly respected her wishes in her own home and tried to avoid my usual holiday euphoria so we decided to celebrate Christmas when we moved into our new home, which turned out to be not long after Christmas. In order to preserve my traditions however, Alan drove me around a couple of nights so I could look at the decorated houses, he bought me an ornament during a visit to the Brooklyn Museum of Art, and I listened to Christmas carols when everyone was at work during the day. I hung my ornament on the bottom of a spider plant that was in our room and we put our presents under that. It was really pathetic, but it made me feel good (I think the first thing I unpacked when we moved was my fake Christmas tree).
Christmas means family to me. My Dad died when I was 14 and when my Mom remarried, I gained a brother, Steve. He is only a few months older than me, so needless-to-say, Mom and Ray had their hands full. Uncle Art and his family continued to come for a few Christmases after Mom remarried, but only for a couple of years. All the kids were getting older and, of course, his brother was no longer there.
I remember being really sad that they weren’t joining us for Christmas that year, but it turned out that we had a wonderful Christmas anyway. Our family had changed, but we were still family. When Ray died, 20 years later, Mom, Nancy and her husband, Alan and I, and all the grandkids were in the limo going to the cemetery when Steve looked around and made the comment that although we were in the “family” car, none of us were really related (Nancy and I were both adopted). It was obvious that family doesn’t have to mean blood relatives - WE were family.
My first Christmas away from home was celebrated in Alaska in 1972. I met Alan in Alaska and began my lone quest for Christmas there. We lived up north for 7 years and each Christmas got better and better. I continued to buy only non-breakable ornaments for my tree (I moved around too much for glass ornaments), and we began our tradition of a Christmas Eve Party. Most of our friends were without family, transplanted like us, from the Lower 48 or Jewish and Christmas Eve could be pretty lonely. I decided to make a new family so we invited all our friends to come over on Christmas Eve. I would cook for days getting ready - all sorts of finger foods and desserts. We continued this tradition when we moved to New York and then to Seattle - up until the girls were about 6 and 10. The parties kept getting smaller and smaller as all our families were growing up and demanding other excursions.
Outdoor decorations come and go at our house depending on how energetic I get as I am on my own when it comes to getting them hung. Alan will help if I specifically ask, usually holding the ladder. Christmas 1994 was rather special for my family as I had just spent 3 and a half months in the hospital, nearly not coming out kicking. I was bound and determined that I was going to have my Christmas party despite the fact that one of my legs was severely disfigured and painful, but we decided to hold it the week before Christmas. I did my usual three days of cooking in five and loads of people showed up. Towards the end of the party I was bemoaning the fact that I couldn’t get any decorations up and teasing Alan about not being willing to help me. The next morning four families (two of which were Jewish) showed up and decorated the outside of my house. They had Alan running back and forth to the hardware store for plugs, outlets, and extension cords. It was amazing and I was so touched and grateful.
We owned a house on Lake Wenatchee for several years. The “cabin”, which was the most wonderful place in the world to spend Christmas. We almost always had a white Christmas and sitting in front of the window gazing at the lake was an experience not to be forgotten.
It was a bit of a pain getting everything to the cabin, but I would have all the presents wrapped and in shopping bags. I would load up my van with sacks of packages, bags of food, skis and snowboards, and usually the girls, as soon as school was out. Alan would come over when his vacation started, usually two days before Christmas, with his car loaded with everything I couldn’t get in my van (and stuff I inevitably forgot). I would decorate our fake tree and the house, cook madly for 3-4 days, and wake up on Christmas morning, usually before the girls. We had a deal with Alan, that they wouldn’t come upstairs until at least 9:00. On the stroke of 9:00 they would come sneaking up the stairs and run into the bedroom to wake up their dad, who would blearily stumble out of bed and flop into the nearest chair (he eventually woke up about half way through the present opening).
The cabin was the most beautiful place to spend the holidays. After Christmas we would frequently have some of the girl’s friends come stay with us for New Years. They would go skiing, watch movies, build forts and have all sorts of fun in the snow.
One of the oddest Christmas’s I ever spent was on an island outside of Petersburg, Alaska. Being the late 60’s/early 70’s Alan and I had the dream of being self sufficient and living “in the bush.” In Alaska, this means living out in the woods, with no electricity or running water. We lived about a mile from Petersburg, by water, in a ten-man Army tent set on a platform with a tin roof over us. We had a Queen-sized bed built as a loft, a recliner, wood heating stove, pantry, library, and entertainment center. Mind you, there wasn’t much room to move! I cooked on a Coleman stove and Coleman oven (we went through two of them in a year) and managed to make a delicious Christmas dinner - even if the rolls were a tad crispy. We had friends living out there with us about a quarter of a mile down the beach so it was still a “family” Christmas.
I put up our 4’ fake tree and decorated it with my non-breakable ornaments. I put lights on because Alan said I could start our very small generator for a half-hour each night. We heard later that fishing boats coming back into Petersburg, got very confused when they saw a Christmas tree all lit up where there shouldn’t have been anything at all.
I stopped putting tinsel on the tree that year when I spent a good deal of time pulling it out of our cat’s rear ends , usually attached to bit of poop. For some reason the cats loved to eat it and no matter how high I put it they would still manage to swallow it. It was pretty funny to see the cats running around dragging their turd, but it got very old quickly. It was definitely a memorable Christmas and I thanked the heavens for the Sears catalog and their mail delivery.
I’ve always had dogs in my life and it was mandatory for me to hang their stocking at Christmas along with ours. I have kept almost all of the stockings and every year when I open the decorations box, I remember each and every dog. It’s always a bittersweet memory, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. I made Alan a stocking when we were in Alaska because, obviously, he didn’t have one from childhood. I wasn’t very creative in those days, so it is just green tree material sewn in the shape of a stocking and has his name on it. However, when it came to making the girl’s stockings, I was into cross-stitch. Both of their stockings are intricately designed and very cute. I did have one unfortunate problem with Hannah’s however.
For some reason, her stocking was very small. I got the brilliant idea a few years back to make it bigger. We were still spending Christmas’s at the cabin at the time, but I had a sewing machine over there, so when I went to town I bought some Christmas material. I very carefully took her’s apart, cut out a larger backing, sewed it all back together and promptly lost it for two years. For the life of me, I have no idea how I did that, as all the decorations went into the same boxes and stored in the attic at the cabin. But I couldn’t find it no matter where I looked. I bought her a new stocking and I’m not sure it bothered her in the least. However, it drove me crazy: not only could I not find it, but to me, it was her special stocking. Somehow it magically turned up - in the decorations boxes - our last year at the cabin. I have no idea where it was hiding, but I felt much better.
I still have the original stocking that my Mom hung for me as a child. It traveled with me every time I moved and was the first thing hung for Christmas. It became a bit (a lot) worse for the wear after hanging over the wood stove in Petersburg, and there was no way it would survive a washing. I finally broke down and made myself a new one. I guess in the back of my mind, I don’t really consider it “my” special stocking as I made one similar to Alan’s and let it go at that. My special stocking resides alongside the dog stockings and is greeted with a smile every year.
Christmas cards have always seemed to me to be work with a capital W. My mom would spend hours and hours, handwriting each and every card to everyone she ever knew. I did (sort of) maintain this tradition, but discovered the joy of the dreaded Christmas newsletter. Actually, I’m not really sure why it is dreaded as I find them entertaining and informative. In order to add a bit of humor to my yearly missive I used to always add a cartoon on the bottom of the letter. I can’t draw for beans, but I’m very good at labeling my stick figures. I do know that many complained when I stopped drawing them. Once I learned the joys of computers the act of sending Christmas cards became a whole lot easier. I now have my Christmas address ready to print on sticky labels, I can whip out a two page letter complete with photos in about an hour. It now takes me longer to put on the stamps than it does to get them written. If this seems a little impersonal, just remember that if I had to go back to handwritten cards, they wouldn’t be half as informative and you probably couldn’t read my handwriting anyway! I like creating the “dreaded” newsletter and l like receiving them from my friends - so there!
I love change and any new adventure. I love technology and am the first one to buy the latest gadgets. However, I am a major traditionalist when it comes to my holidays and resist any kind of change. I cook the same Thanksgiving dinner my Mom did despite the fact that neither of my girls LIKE Thanksgiving dinner. We have a very dear friend (a “third” daughter) who loves Thanksgiving dinner. Her family celebrates it on Sat. so she comes and eats with us on Thursday - at least someone likes the traditional dinner besides me! (Alan doesn’t count; he eats anything.)
I have to admit that after years of pressure (and being a little sick of turkey by then) I did change my Christmas menu a few years ago. This one seems to have been a hit with my girls for different reasons. I now cook a crown roast and Yorkshire pudding, with various other goodies. Aspen has decided that she likes the burned puddings and Hannah only likes the ones that are not (naturally). I have tried to devise a method for burning some and not others with a minimum of fuss, but haven’t been totally successful as yet. Hopefully, I will get it right before grandkids start coming for Christmas dinner.
I’m not sure why I wrote this little essay but once I started I couldn’t stop. Maybe it’s to share my memories with my friends and family, maybe it was just to help me celebrate in a year that my Christmas will go a totally different direction. One thing that I realized as I was typing away is that my traditions are what makes Christmas special to me and I can’t expect others to find the same joy. They are my memories and my interpretations of those memories that give the traditions meaning. They are not the same memories shared by my daughters. I can only hope that I have instilled some of the magic of Christmas in their hearts and that their memories will manifest themselves into their own traditions.
I can hardly wait to write about Christmas 2008.