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I can’t think of Christmas without thinking of my Mother. Mother was a large lady with an even larger personality. She had a ready laugh, and when you were with her, you felt like the most important person to her. Christmas was her holiday.
The house was always decorated for the holidays, with new decorations added each year. She was quite a sale shopper, so what went on half-off sales after Christmas adorned our living room the next year. In the early years, many of the decorations were homemade. Dad (who taught computer science) provided the punch cards for the wreath that was stapled and spray painted gold or silver.
Many years she made wreathes of wrapped candy.
Her sucker tree was always popular.
I loved the houses she made of sugar cubes and always thought I would get to eat them after Christmas, but it never seemed to happen.
Gingerbread houses were another family favorite. She didn’t cheat and use graham crackers, but painstakingly baked the gingerbread on jelly roll pans and cut it to shape. The pieces were glued together with a cooked sugar that looked (and tasted) nasty, but was sturdy.
Mom and Dad got lots of Christmas cards and would attach them to the walls as decorations.
Chocolate dipping was a huge endeavor. Mom spent hours and hours making mints, cherry chocolates, peanut clusters, turtles, and caramels. Plates were delivered to all the neighbors. It was important to her that, as adults, we children carried on the tradition.
Mom loved a flocked tree and would spend hours decorating it. Sometimes the kids would help by literally throwing the icicles at the tree.
We went to two Christmas trees shortly after that – where we had a kid’s tree with our homemade ornaments in the basement, but the “show tree” with her lovely things filled the living room.
Later, her love of Christmas took on a more sophisticated look as she had expensive ornaments, a village that filled the living room, and beautiful nativity sets from all over the world.
Acting out the nativity was done every Christmas Eve.
On Christmas Eve, we had a big family dinner and were allowed to open one gift. You waited for the nod from Mom so you didn’t waste your “one gift” opening up underwear or socks. We put out our Christmas stockings and set out a plate of sugar cookies and milk for Santa. Dad would read the Christmas Story from the bible as the kids acted out the nativity scene. We went to bed with strict instructions NOT to get up until we could see our hand in front of our face. On Christmas morning, I would be awakened in the dead of night with my older brother saying, “I think I can see my hand in front of my face. Can you?” We would sneak into the living room to examine our Santa gifts (which were always unwrapped). When the noise got too loud, my father would come in and yell, “My Lordy, it is 2 a.m.. Go back to bed.” When we were allowed to finally get up, we first played with our presents from Santa and then looked for treasures from our stockings. Eventually, someone would suggest that we open the wrapped gifts from parents, siblings, and grandparents. Those gifts were usually more practical than the Santa gifts. I used to wonder why I got such nice gifts from Santa who barely knew me (as I was much too shy to enjoy sitting on his lap) and such boring gifts from my parents (who I knew loved me dearly).
Over the years, mother never lost her love of Christmas. As shopping became more difficult, QVC became her best friend. She had her credit card number memorized and was constantly retrieving packages from the front porch. As she aged, the grandkids were her favorite to shop for. Often her children got a generous check (as I think she secretly wanted to spend their wealth before she died), but the grandkids always got something to open. Recent grandchild gifts were a picture of the temple (for those who were married), various items for the Demdaco Willow Tree nativity sets each married granddaughter was collecting, and a wind up dog for a twenty-something grandson who complained he never got to have the dog he always wanted as a child.
Mom often gave the grandchildren ornaments. When Greg complained that he didn’t seem to have his ornaments from grandmother, the next Christmas he opened up a box of wooden ornaments from her collection. On each she had marked, “Greg, Christmas 1983” or “Greg, 1984”. We all got a good laugh out of the collection of “memory” ornaments.
Mom loved giving. When the family was young, funds were tight, but Mom would save all year just to be able to have a picture perfect Christmas. She loved figuring out what each child and grandchild would want. She loved shopping. She loved the cooking. She loved Christmas in all its glory. How did she keep the love of Christmas in tough economic times or with the chaos of grandbabies, late night movies, and loss of sleep? How did she keep the joy alive through old age, sickness, and the loss of her mate? That secret died with her. I think it was part of her Christmas magic.
1 comment:
Remember how presents were hidden in the attic, accessible from the closet in the kitchen that went over the staircase and up? We often snuck up there to dream of when we got to open the much anticipated gift. It backfired on me one year, as I saw the white figure skates and dreamed of being Peggy Flemming. Then my older sister was actually the one chosen to receive the much coveted skates. I was so sad!
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