But then, there were 'the other Christmases', as I have called
them – those Christmases when money was short, gifts were few, or family was
separated. This holiday distinction is not
necessarily a pitiful or resentful declaration, but more of a seasonal
disappointment. No matter how we lived the eleven months leading up to
December, we always longed for a grand Christmas with all the trimmings. So having experienced more than our share of the other Christmases, we just simply did what we do best – what the strongest, fittest survivors of our species do – find a way to adapt. Not only did we adapt; sometimes we
thrived.
I remember one year in 'the big house' when we decorated
Christmas trees in five rooms and did not fill a single stocking. My entire extended family had gone to the
mountains together, but David had just started a new job and was not eligible
for time off. My son spent Christmas
with his girlfriend’s relatives, and my oldest daughter spent the holiday with
her boyfriend’s family; so David, Katie, and I slept late, ate a big breakfast,
and went to the movies together. We shared the cinema with a dozen people
for whom we gave stories about why they were watching movies on Christmas Day. We ate popcorn, sugar babies, and hot tamales,
and we ended up seeing back-to-back movies, none of which I can
remember!
I will never forget the almost treeless Christmas. That year, David decided to be Daniel Boone
and take the kids into the woods to chop down a cedar tree with an ax. We owned a hundred acres of open pasture surrounded by deciduous hardwoods, long leaf pines, holly trees, and cedars; so
for the kids, the tree-hunting excursion seemed like a wilderness
adventure. They actually found a tree
that was a perfect height with a nice shape; however, the cedar was neither
bushy nor full. At the time, we had three house cats named
Christopher Columbus, Balboa, and Ponce de Leon – three curious explorers whose purpose in life was to navigate every inch of our house, including the
newly-discovered Christmas tree. Every
morning, I awoke to a toppled-over cedar, broken ornaments, and a bucket of
spilled dirt which had been mistaken for kitty litter!
After a few days, we decided to remove the scrawny
tree altogether; we would decorate a Christmas quilt instead. So I spread out a handmade green and red holiday quilt, outlined it with garland, positioned a few lights and ornaments, and placed our
presents on top. The kids, who were
between the ages of six and twelve, hated that quilt.
On Christmas Eve, the kids and I made an eleventh-hour stop at the
grocery store. Leaning against the
outdoor wall of the store was one remaining Christmas tree. I told the kids to stay in the car while I
bought a few basic ingredients.
When I walked inside, I asked the cashier if the tree had been
sold. He said no, and I bought it right
on the spot. I asked the bag boy to
carry it to my car. Aimee
told me later that when Matt saw the tree, he said in the most pitiful voice,
“I wish we had a Christmas tree.” When
he saw the bag boy pick up the tree, he shouted, “Look, somebody bought the
last Christmas tree!” Then, when he saw
the young man headed to our car, he started screaming, “Mom bought the last
Christmas tree!” That Christmas Eve
night, we decorated the last spruce pine on the lot, and the tree actually survived
three climbing cats for the next three weeks!
The leanest one of the other Christmases that I remember
(and we have had several) – happened the year that David closed his paper
recycling business. Most of his large
cardboard accounts had purchased their own bailing equipment, so they could
sell directly to the mills. His computer
paper accounts were becoming obsolete with each new advance in information
technology. The family-owned business
that had provided a lucrative six-figure income for years was closing its doors. David knew that he had to sell
the equipment, trucks, and remaining paper inventory in order to break
even. Also, for the first time in his
adult life, he had to look for a public job. When Katie and Matt were born one year apart,
I had left my position as a newspaper editor to be a stay-at-home mom. Until this
turn of events, everyday life for our young family had been almost
perfect.
After a sober reality-check, we faced the inevitable sale of our first family home and an impending move to a more affordable alternative. Also, we would have to learn to live on about one-fourth of the income to which we had been accustomed. The materialistic celebration of
Christmas that we had come to expect was pretty much non-existent. During all of our discussions (and I
am almost embarrassed to say it now), the harshest reality for me was that my
two daughters would not be getting their American Girl© doll collections. Aimee was reading the American Girl© books,
and Santa had promised each one of the girls a doll collection for Christmas. The girls had literally worn the catalog
paper-thin as they dreamed of Christmas morning. Now, Santa couldn’t even
afford one doll, much less an entire collection.
I told my mom about the situation. Two or three days later she called me. She said that she could not afford to buy the
collections, but she had an idea that might work. I purchased a large five-dollar trunk (of course,
there had to be a trunk involved) and two dollar store dolls for ten dollars
each. The plastic dolls stood about
two-feet tall, had movable limbs, and were actually quite beautiful. Mom and I took the catalog and the dolls to my Aunt
Mary Jane, who used fabric material scraps to sew complete clothing collections
for both dolls – almost identical to the clothes in the catalogs (even two sets
of pajamas). Next, I bought barrettes
and bows, combs and brushes, and any other accessories that could be used for
the dolls. I cut out pictures from the
catalogs and decoupaged them onto the trunk.
Finally, we stuffed the trunk, placed the dolls back into their
packages, and wrapped everything for Christmas morning. Altogether, thanks to Aunt Mary Jane’s time,
labor, and use of fabric, we had spent fifty dollars on the girls’ Christmas
doll collections. Both dolls had fancy
Christmas dresses which they wore to dinner, when they joined us at the table for their first Christmas meal. My girls played with
those dolls and that trunk of clothes for years.
Over the next few months, we faced many changes as a young
family; however, after that Christmas, I knew for sure that unexpectedly good things were
going to happen to us along the way. This past year, my adult girls took a trip to
New York City and visited the American Girls© Store. All the excitement and wonder was just as
palpable for them as it had been twenty years earlier. They have even started making plans for a
return trip with their one-day daughters.
Still, neither of them will ever forget the other Christmas when they
learned what it meant to be real American girls.
I guess no one wants to roll out the red carpet for the other
Christmases. None of us want to 'celebrate' compromised or lowered expectations. And yet, I am reminded of the other Christmas that we sometimes forget during this season of shopping and sales. No matter where the long journey takes us or the disappointment we may experience with each closed door; in the end, we might find
something positively perfect in the most unexpected place.
Dianne ; )
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