"What X-mas doesn't mean anymore" may be a better title. It hasn't been a religious holiday for ages. Even as a kid, it was mostly Santa, the tree, presents, and the music. Even the church part of it then was salted in the shell peanuts in a small paper bag with a couple of hard candies in it, maybe ribbon candies. And a story. Or should I call it "The Story"?
Oh, the music! It was everywhere. First in church or on the car radio. Eventually we got TV and it was there. Stores played it. School choirs (me included) sang it. I even went caroling, once, as an adult in a group of people I knew from a support group. It didn't quite hold the meaning of the campfire songs sung in the evenings at various camps, but then I wasn't freezing my (________) off in the summers. The music expanded to loving Handel's "Messiah", at least partly because Daddy used to sing it, well before I knew he sang anything. Then came "The Nutcracker", and taking my kids to the ballet in Minneapolis. I collected the music on various records, then CDs, and played it for myself. And of course all those years I was still singing it or at least hearing it, since my voice took a couple decades off. A few of the carols still make me tear up a bit the first time I hear them again, like "Silent Night."
Santa, well, that's kind of a checkered history. I believed those first few years, but found out that jolly old elf didn't have much of a budget, and never managed to bring what I wanted. Then I found out why. Later I became Santa, again without much budget and even less respect. All pretense dropped. I did manage at some point to memorize "Night Before Christmas", which helped me recall all the reindeer names. TV started in with endless cartoons before the holiday, stories I'd never heard of - as if they somehow were required to have authentic history? I avoid those now.
Trees have had an up-and-down history. The earliest ones were always real, and I think we went out in the woods and chopped our own. Meaning, not me of course, but the guys. I did graduate to hitting a tree farm a time or two but somebody else did the chopping. Bubble lights and what are in retrospect large lights of various colors were strung first of course, after testing the strings to see what still worked. Those early trees had a lot of tinfoil ornaments, folded for storage and requiring opening up before hanging on the tree. There were glass ones as well, and of course those home made ones from school art projects. I recall stringing popcorn, but forgot until later years how crumbly that is. We probably ate all the rejects anyway, likely much that wasn't a reject until we bit it, as well. There was tinsel as the final touch, painstakingly sorted strand by strand, OR ELSE!
When I got married and started my own tree decorating traditions, we had simple breakable balls the first year. Every year after that until the kids were grown and gone, I purchased something new. The first purchase was flat wooden birds, one each in three (?) different colors. More birds followed in later years, and I developed a fondness for jingle bells, nut crackers, bubble lights, strings of small lights inside other decorations (frosted birds for one, of course), and of course the kind that the kids made. One year there were wooden ones, glued into 3D shapes, and painted by the kids. I loved them, but the kids quickly grew up enough to find them embarrassing. Nothing topped the embarrassment level of the angel tree topper. "Real" ones were expensive, so the tree lacked one for years. This one came home from school, Reynolds Wrap foil covering cardboard body, wings, and a styrofoam ball for its face. A pipe cleaner made the halo. Eventually the embarrassment displayed every time that box came out persuaded me to replace it with something purchased. I still miss it. I hope art teachers around the country still know how to make those.
Bubble lights came back on the market, and I scooped several strings up. Turns out Steve did that too, which I found out once we combined decorations. They are the only decorations on our tiny tree this year, small enough to stand securely on top of his rolltop desk, big enough to hold 4 strings! The older decorations were sorted through several years back and sent to the family members still raising small children. I wish I could have sent the memories that go with them, but they'll gather new ones of their own.
Every present produced from wherever stayed unopened under the tree until Christmas morning. No exceptions. No peeking - or at least we learned how not to get caught. I recall the year I asked for an Easy Bake Oven. A large wrapped box appeared under the tree that might be the right size and shape. I woke up about 2AM Christmas morning that year, slipped downstairs, located the box, and carefully pulled open a flap or two of wrapping paper so I could see what was in it. Of course I didn't dare turn on a light. I knew whatever wrong I did, Mom was always there somehow to catch me. Unfortunately for my efforts that morning, many of the letters on the box were red. On a black background. In the dark. In other words, showing black on black. I kinda hoped it could still be my oven, but couldn't count on it. I rewrapped it as carefully as I could and hoped Mom wouldn't detect my exploring. If she did, she never commented. I did enjoy the treats it made, but there was never a question of spending money on refill food packages.
There was a year with no presents. Or at least none from me. It was when I had a very low paying job, child support had just stopped, and the bills hadn't. Somehow word got out to the neighbor across the street. She worked in a local hospital, which "adopted" a family (possibly more) who needed financial help for the holidays. First I knew about it was when I was asked about the kid's clothing sizes. Shortly thereafter clothing arrived for all the kids, along with various food items. No frills, just necessities. It may or may not have coincided with the school year when Paul grew through four sizes of clothes! He quickly learned to hit the sales racks and pick out two pairs of pants and two shirts, enough to last till the next growth spurt. My parents would have sent the kids presents, though nobody remembers what, just hard times. I still can't remember that time without getting emotional, a combination of embarrassment, gratitude, and thankfulness that it didn't last long nor repeat. These days I don't quite get teary about it any more.
Christmas cards became my thing. Everybody else does family photos. I do favorite photos. Some times I have a photo and saying combo that invades my skull and doesn't let go. That can make finding the proper framing and ability to add text the biggest challenge. I recall a trip to Alaska with my former and now late mother-in-law. One of many side trips from the cruise ship was a boat ride to watch a pod of humpback whales while they were bubble net feeding. This involved swimming around a school of their chosen prey fish, blowing bubbles from their blow holes which the fish mistake for actual confinement. The prey gather into a slim column, and the matriarch of the whale pod (I'm told) gives an audible signal telling them to open their mouths and rise through the column. Our captain had a microphone in the water and we heard a single note rising in pitch until the pod surfaced, mouths still open. That's the picture I took. I was able finally to find a way of getting a photo card made with no wording on it, enabling me to add "Have a whale of a..." whatever wording I finished it with. Maybe "Holiday"? I've taken representations of various seasons and used them with "season" in the text. I also am fond of "Peace" and other non-religious themes I can find in a format that supports whatever picture(s) I want to use. Whatever it is, usually the next season's card is mentally chosen months ahead of time.
Some years I do "Christmas" letters. You know, the ones I typically ridicule if/when they have parents gushing about their family and every third line has "we're so proud!" It's not that I'm not proud of my family, but I always think that's pretty much assumed if you're going on about them without using terms like "prison"! Some years hold big changes and a letter is in order, going to lots of people we otherwise have little contact with but good feelings for. Other years have to wait for me to have enough energy to find some new ways to say what I think everybody else is likely saying. This year's cards got no letters. For one thing, the pictures already showed the highlights of our year. For another, it's been pretty busy these last couple months, making gifts and items to sell through the club. Lots of package mailing to do, in fact enough that my credit card company started asking me if I really was the one using my card for all those trips to the post office, particularly two in one day? Yep. Me.
I'm also wrapping up my last year as club secretary, writing up those last sets of minutes from earlier this month, going through all my old records to make sure the club has pdf files of absolutely everything for the last three years for their official requirements, before I can finally clear more space on my laptop. I emailed them two years' worth this morning, then went in to the club to transfer them to their folders, and later found out the count is one set of minutes short. I'll get to go back in and compare both sets to figure out what is missing, send that in, and then have another fight with using a Microsoft system rather than my Mac.
I'm also in training for my new club position. Fortunately, two of the last two years' officers are frequently there and very willing to help me through the learning curve. I'll need it, and not just because of the computer. This next year I'll be club President, a job that typically takes either huge amounts of delegating skills or huge amounts of spare time to do 17 jobs by yourself. Our last two presidents haven't been delegators. I'm truly hoping to change that. Maybe a few other things along the way. I'm starting with sending our a club-wide email announcing upcoming demos and workshops, this time with pictures of what is being taught.
Much has changed over these 73 years. Some good, some bad, all with emotional attachments. Right now I'm taking time to wallow in nostalgia. Yesterday I just watched The Nutcracker on TV. My car radio is playing holiday songs as I drive to the club, grocery store, or post office. In the evenings many of the houses are lit up with what are likely thousands of dollars each worth of lights and inflatables. (Mine has the wreath of sleigh bells on the front door, as usual.) With all that I'm doing and not doing this season, there is still one thing that makes whatever happened in previous years worth getting through, and all the changes or losses worth it: that extraordinarily loving guy in the chair next to mine in the living room, making sure every day I am fully aware of being loved. I make sure he knows the same himself.
Isn't that the most important part of the season? Of any season?
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