Christmas Memories
My dad loved Christmas. Loved it! Decorating began the week after Thanksgiving, and the festivities lasted until just after New Year's. We'd have advent calendar gifts, 12 days of Christmas gifts, Christmas Eve gifts...any excuse would do. These little gifts were dime store toys or candy, or homemade goodies. Those of you who knew him are likely beneficiaries of his gifting. You might have one of his ABC block trees or Christmas wrapped pillows. You might have one of his elaborate sleighs, decorated with tinsel and stuffed with a Santa, candy, and bags of miniature toys.
He had a thing for Santa. There were Santas all over the house...on shelves, coffee tables, bedposts, inside cabinets, on the tv/stereo (we called that a hi-fi console), in potted plants, under chairs, under covers, and on the aforementioned pillows, sleighs, and trees. You get the idea. I think at one time he counted 300 or so scattered throughout the house. My mother couldn't wait to start packing them up. And of course every year without fail, someone would discover a Santa we'd forgotten...in July.
Each year the tree was a masterpiece, easily surpassing the previous year's efforts, and always causing us to gather around just to look at it. Lovely lights and stylish decorations contrasted with ancient, well-worn and storied ornaments. One year we had a rotating spotlight that cast the tree in a spectrum of color. It was fabulous until the cats commandeered it. And by the way, we always put bells on the bottom branches to warn of imminent cat danger.
Pictures from Daddy's heyday show presents spreading out from under the tree spilling into the middle of our large living room. It really didn't matter if the present was needed, wished for, or a happy little box of crap, the idea was that you got something you could open and gleefully show off to all in attendance.
Re: opening presents...our family went one at a time. You had to hold up the gift, announce the giver (usually a blatant hint as to nature of the gift or a funny name rather than that of the real person), comment on the wrapping effort, and then finally open the gift. Once opened, you were expected to describe the contents, try on and/or model it, use it right there, or at least ponder out loud the many uses forthwith. It was an ordeal and a delight.
After Daddy died, my mother just couldn't bring herself to drag out all the decorations so loaded with memories. Instead she put up a small, plain frosted tree with white lights. I really couldn't blame her. She was alone in the house, and didn't want to face 300 Santas without her real Santa.
I came home that Christmas and there were no candy trays, no tons of presents, no block trees. Nothing. As I said, I really couldn't blame her, but it made me realize something: No matter who leaves or who stays, the memories remain...and they depend on us to keep them alive and present.
My mom is now in long-term memory care. She doesn't remember Daddy, much less the 300 Santas. But I'm going to visit her next week, and I'm bringing all the memories I can muster. Even if she doesn't remember, the telling will help me remember...as long as I can.
He had a thing for Santa. There were Santas all over the house...on shelves, coffee tables, bedposts, inside cabinets, on the tv/stereo (we called that a hi-fi console), in potted plants, under chairs, under covers, and on the aforementioned pillows, sleighs, and trees. You get the idea. I think at one time he counted 300 or so scattered throughout the house. My mother couldn't wait to start packing them up. And of course every year without fail, someone would discover a Santa we'd forgotten...in July.
Each year the tree was a masterpiece, easily surpassing the previous year's efforts, and always causing us to gather around just to look at it. Lovely lights and stylish decorations contrasted with ancient, well-worn and storied ornaments. One year we had a rotating spotlight that cast the tree in a spectrum of color. It was fabulous until the cats commandeered it. And by the way, we always put bells on the bottom branches to warn of imminent cat danger.
Pictures from Daddy's heyday show presents spreading out from under the tree spilling into the middle of our large living room. It really didn't matter if the present was needed, wished for, or a happy little box of crap, the idea was that you got something you could open and gleefully show off to all in attendance.
Re: opening presents...our family went one at a time. You had to hold up the gift, announce the giver (usually a blatant hint as to nature of the gift or a funny name rather than that of the real person), comment on the wrapping effort, and then finally open the gift. Once opened, you were expected to describe the contents, try on and/or model it, use it right there, or at least ponder out loud the many uses forthwith. It was an ordeal and a delight.
After Daddy died, my mother just couldn't bring herself to drag out all the decorations so loaded with memories. Instead she put up a small, plain frosted tree with white lights. I really couldn't blame her. She was alone in the house, and didn't want to face 300 Santas without her real Santa.
I came home that Christmas and there were no candy trays, no tons of presents, no block trees. Nothing. As I said, I really couldn't blame her, but it made me realize something: No matter who leaves or who stays, the memories remain...and they depend on us to keep them alive and present.
My mom is now in long-term memory care. She doesn't remember Daddy, much less the 300 Santas. But I'm going to visit her next week, and I'm bringing all the memories I can muster. Even if she doesn't remember, the telling will help me remember...as long as I can.
#love
ReplyDeleteHappy holidays to you and Joe from the Spencers. We miss you!