Spirits of Christmases past and present
Ever since childhood, Christmas has been my favorite holiday; better than birthdays (too self-centered), better than Easter or Thanksgiving and all the “days” meant to honor mothers, fathers, soldiers and saints.
There were the lavish feasts and decorations of the early years, when my older sister and I were too young to help but were allowed to enjoy everyone else’s efforts. Then there were the lean years, which often were the most meaningful.
For those who are having a lean year, take heart. Despite my privileged youth, restricted cash flow later on never dampened my enthusiasm for the giving season. It just made me more creative and gave me a deepened sense of the things that really matter.
Forget loading up the credit cards. We didn’t have any and besides, it’s been my experience that things paid for with plastic are seldom treasured and can come back to bite you when the bills come in January.
When my son was just a toddler, we moved to the ranch. Because we bought it during the days when a 30 percent down payment was required, we had no money left over, even for necessities. We also had no income because the horses were still living at Devonshire Downs while we built their new digs. Our friends loaned us everything from a tractor to used fence posts and gates, then got together on the appointed day for an old-fashioned barn-raising. I think we paid one professional carpenter to supervise the roof assembly but the rest of the structure was made of dismantled refrigerated railroad cars and erected by our fellow horse trainers. Despite hammered thumbs and scraped knuckles, we had fun.
As Christmas approached I began to worry that there would be no presents. I had saved many books of S&H Green Stamps (only very old people remember those), with which I bought toys for our son Bobby. He was too young to expect anything and he was thrilled.
We didn’t need to buy a tree because there was a huge cedar in the front yard just outside the living room window. It had no decorations or lights, but a dusting of new snow made it so perfect that we took pictures of Bobby and our riding students in their colorful sweaters standing in front of it.
Knowing we would receive some gifts from our affluent clients, I wondered what I might give them in return. A year earlier, I had wheedled a favored cake recipe from a Texas antiques dealer, the mother of a client. She swore she had never given it to anyone, but I promised to guard it forever, and we didn’t know any of the same people anyway.
Coming from Texas, naturally it was loaded with pecans and bourbon, and thanks to Trader Joe’s, I could just afford both. The cakes were a big hit and became a family tradition.
Now, with family spread from France to California and Montana, Christmas takes on a different dynamic. Presents (including two cakes) for the California clan (still or once again living at the ranch) have to be wrapped, packed, shipped and delivered courtesy of the UPS man rather than Santa. Thank-you notes are e-mailed or spoken directly via Skype or iChat on Christmas morning.
The Vargos (my daughter Betty, her husband and daughter) have invited me to Christmas Eve dinner and a sleepover at their house, which is just four miles down the road from my residence. Since I’m not entertaining, I really don’t have to decorate my apartment, but I can’t resist. Last month I ordered a reusable half-tree, complete with tiny lights, that hangs on a wall and takes up virtually no space . . . okay, maybe a scant 14 inches deep by 24 inches wide. This was a leap of faith for someone who used to turn up her nose at anything other than a real, living, conifer.
For three weeks the faux tree stayed in its partially opened box in case I chickened out and wanted to return it. Finally, helped by a tall guy with a ladder, two Hercules Hooks and an extension cord, I had the perfect tree. Not traditional by a long shot, but it makes me smile every time I pass by.
Things change, families grow and spread, traditions are altered to fit new times. It’s best not to resist such changes. With holiday music from the Bose radio, the aroma of pecans and bourbon (or Grand Marnier) wafting from the oven and a fresh dusting of snow outside, that’s tradition enough for me.
May your days be merry and bright and may some Christmases be white.