While out shopping with a friend, I noticed the huge variety of Christmas stockings that are available. The ones on display were more of the decorative style, large and wide, covered in sequins or various winter themes. Some were of reindeer, polar bears or snowmen.
When we were young we too had Christmas stockings, the difference being ours were genuine stockings, usually our own. We often tumbled out of bed early Christmas morning, delving into the depths of our treasure troves. We were sure to find a small toy, a handful of mixed nuts, hard peppermint candy and a sweet, succulent orange.
We waited anxiously for those oranges to appear on the shelves in the Sundre Red and White store. They had a unique flavour and a soft pulpy skin that was easily removed. Larry always carefully picked off the white thready pieces before taking even one bite. The rest of us just popped the pieces in, hardly taking time to savour.
We waited for those hard candies too. They were only available during the Christmas season. They must have been produced in a long tube of white peppermint, and then dyed. The centres generally were resplendent with a colourful flower or some other pattern and the outside a different flavour. They were sweet and minty but quickly hurt the tongue. Perhaps that only happened after too many candies. We often had boxes of Allsorts as well, a soft licorice type with a sprinkle coating.
When I see the assortment of stockings in the stores, I think back to my mother-in-law, Jane. She had a collection; some she had sewn herself, crafted from felt and embellished with lace and buttons. One that I recall was styled as a Victorian high-topped lady’s boot with a buckle, pointy toe and high heel.
My father-in-law took charge of filling Jane’s stocking while she toiled over everyone else’s. One year her favourite stocking mysteriously disappeared. Jimmy made do. He provided one of his long wool socks, the type with a wide red band around the top. His stocking had a large hole in the toe. He secured the opening with a nail, a slim spike threaded through the opening. He was delighted with his originality. Jane’s opinion didn’t quite match his.
When we moved to northern Alberta, we spent most of our Christmases without our extended family. We did take with us many family mementos, decorations and our Christmas stockings. Several of those were red felt or velvet with white fuzzy trim, like a Santa bag.
As the boys grew older they weren’t interested in the idea anymore. Their Hoey grandparents would have been highly offended. We used the stockings more as part of the decorations, pinning them around the tree or attaching them to the back wall of the open staircase.
When we returned to Olds, we shared a home with Jane for a few years and her fascination with the traditional celebration re-emerged. She had a large room added to the back of the house, making a lovely granny suite. It gave her a lot of space to plan her projects and carry them out in secret.
I can still hear her. The door to the master suite opened and there she came, knocking on the walls of the narrow hallway. “Hello, hello.” She bustled through, to the laundry in the basement, to ask one of the boys to carry in her groceries or to carry out the garbage.
Sometimes she needed to borrow some more Scotch Tape. She loved Christmas and if we listened closely we could hear the rustle of wrapping paper next door. The boys referred to her as Nanny or just Nan, but Mrs. Claus would have been just as appropriate.
– Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
