All those hectic days of pre-Christmas that take such a huge amount of energy came to a sudden halt. All my friends and co-workers were, pre-Christmas, rushing here and there, standing in endless lineups, checking via phone or online whether their treasured gifts had yet been delivered. I watched bemused as newscasts showed folks lined up for some coveted new item that their child "had to have." How about the Boxing Day sales with the hordes muscling their way to victory? These same people now sit in glazed exhaustion; not much evidence of "happy holidays."
I used to purchase gifts all year, avoiding the need for haste at Christmas. As the little people grew, it became hard to guess what was appropriate to their age and interests. My group decided in the last few years to do away with exchanging gifts. They still provide presents for the little ones, but use their money to enjoy each other's company, go out for a nice meal or to the theatre. It actually distresses Christmas and gives me time to enjoy the beauty of the season.
I don't recall much emphasis being placed on all the hoopla and decorations at home, although we did have a live tree. It doesn't hold much place in my recollection; those spaces are filled with fun and laughter.
My own tree is assembled and decorated early, the last week of November. By Boxing Day I am finished with the whole thing: not fed up, just finished, as in completing a good book. Boxing week sees me rewrapping all those glittering blue and silver balls, untangling the flimsy little hooks that love to embed themselves in the artificial needles and often in my fingers as well.
When I prepared to move recently, I gradually reduced the volume of ornaments. The last Christmas in my previous home I used everything in storage and all those things gifted to me. As I returned the treasured stash to the wrappings, I set aside each item that I knew I would not use again. Some were discoloured, missing parts or simply worn out. I managed to reduce it into one large blue tote, with a lid that actually fit. It takes up much less space than the three cardboard boxes and miscellaneous decorator tins.
The careful rewrapping reminds me of my mom. She saved the papers from the Christmas oranges, recycling them to protect the ornaments. I have always used soft paper towel, or recycled paper napkins. My ornaments must be larger than mom's as I found the orange wrappers to be too small.
I've thought often of mom's preparations for Christmas. Her vocation was one of presenting excellent meals to her family and guests. She and grandma made a magnificent spread from next to nothing. Their workspace did not compare with today's deluxe kitchens: no granite or quartz countertops, no island, no stainless steel appliances. Mom was pleased with her wood-burning cookstove, huge refrigerator and old work table with its Arborite top. That was a vast upgrade from her previous kitchens.
My kitchens have been more user-friendly than some of mom's, except perhaps the old house we rented on 14th Avenue in Calgary. It had one small section of kitchen cupboards, upper and lower and its counter space was all there was. There was an antique sink standing alone in a corner, its porcelain surface chipped and stained. We did, however, have a nice family dining room, large enough for guests, if we could manage to prepare in that kitchen.
We did host Christmas once while we were there. My grandparents, my husband's aunt and mom and dad were crowded into that tiny space. The living room was a front parlour, featuring formal, heavy wallpaper and an ornate mahogany plate rail that ran around the entire space. We had a couch, two chairs and a minuscule gas fireplace. There were two coloured windows, the woodwork and baseboards deep and stained dark. It had been a beauty in its day.
I can't imagine that we had a tree. There was no room. Odd really, that of all the fond memories I have of Christmas, the idea of the decorated tree is hazy. What is so much more indelible is the feeling of family, togetherness, protection.
"The living room was a front parlour, featuring formal, heavy wallpaper and an ornate mahogany plate rail that ran around the entire space."
