Tuesday, December 24, 2002
It's December the twenty-forth, and my mind is way up north, to the land of the midnight sun and the sight of that jolly old elf...... Whoops.
I let my mind wander a bit back toward the commercial view of Christmas. In the 1991 book "Unplug The Christmas Machine," the authors Jo Robinson and Jean Coppock Staeheli say that "economists estimate that we are spending more than the twenty billion dollars that was spent at Christmas time in 1982... The Christmas Machine (the commercial aspect of Christmas) has this power over us because it knows how to woo us; it speaks to the deepest, profoundest, and most sacred desires of the human heart. If it appeared as a monster, we would rise up and stop it. But the commercial messages of Christmas appear as promises that bring tears to our eyes. Look at the bounty that we are promised by the December magazines and the glowing Christmas commercials:
Our families will be together and be happy.
Our children will be well-behaved and grateful.
Our wives will be beautiful and nurturing.
Our husbands will be kind, generous and appreciative.
We will have enough money.
We will have enough time.
We will have fun.
We will be warm.
We will be safe.
We will be truly loved.
No wonder we stop, listen, and we want to believe." How many of you subscribe to all of these thoughts? The last time I felt this way completely was when I was a child back in 1962. Though at that time I was already part of a dysfunctional family (mother walked out the year before), Christmas at my grandmother's house was so memorable for the sights, the sounds, and the scents of the annual family gathering at her house.
Christmas day dawned early, too early for my grandparents, as my sister and I crept down the two flights of stairs from our third floor bedrooms. A quick look through the balusters of the stairs, and the Christmas tree in the foyer was loaded completely with presents, overflowing behind and under Grandma's chair. A sharp call from Granddad, and we scooted back upstairs to wait for everyone else to wake and come down stairs.
My grandparents house was a three story house that was part of a large farm when it was built in 1879. Its front door was on the right side of the house, which made it a center entrance colonial style. When the home was built, a stairway rose from the front door to the second floor. The attic or third floor had two bedrooms, the second floor three and a bath. Later modifications put another door on the street side, and the staircase was relocated near that new door. The foyer between the living and dining rooms where the old front door is was the location for the Christmas tree.
The house was painted an old yellow with black shutters and a large screened porch that was used during the summers to watch the Memorial Day and Independence Day parades on Elm St. The elm tree were long gone, victims of a blight, but maple and oak trees shaded the street during the summer. In the Christmas season, old electric candles shone through every window in the front and sides of the house. It was my job to plug them in every night, a task that took twenty minutes or more. The candle lamps were an old style bulb, not really white, but a cream color that blended in with the house color in the evenings. To me, that picture of the house lit with the candles was my idea of a house decorated for Christmas. My grandmother didn't do much else for decorating, save for a pine wreath that she made and hung on the front of the house next to the door.
When it was time to wake up, the scents of breakfast rose from the kitchen, eggs and bacon, fresh orange juice, toast and homemade jellies. Grandma was a good cook, but in the English tradition, not very spiced or flavored with herbs. Soon, the smell of the large turkey roasting in the oven joined the cacaphony of scents from the downstairs. My sister and I dressed, and ran down stairs to the tree.
The rule was, open one present before the rest of the relatives came (which always meant more presents!). My sister and I generally gravitated to the larger boxes, which in our limited experience usually meant a winter coat or a snow suit. That year, perhaps we smartened up a bit and we carefully looked through the stack of colorfully wrapped presents, me picking up a heavy round object with a silver bow. Hurredly I unwrapped the object with my father and grandfather standing by, and found a coffee can, with a brick inside, and a five dollar bill wrapped around the brick. That was my grandfather's gift, always looking for ways to be clever and different. But of course, I couldn't play with this, so I had to wait, and we went to eat breakfast as we stared at the clock.
Eleven o'clock, and my relatives began to come in. My Uncle David, with his new wife Lorraine, and baby cousin David. Great grandmother with Aunt Marion and Uncle Myron (who we called Junior). Uncle Homer and Aunt Susan. Uncle Elmer and his wife. And Aunt Barbara, who also lived in the house, and was about 20 years old at that time. And lots of presents! The pile of boxes in colors of red and green, silver and gold grew larger beneath the tree, even spilling into the other side facing the dining room. And soon, the cue was given from my grandmother to begin the presents!
As you might surmise from this scene, many of the promises of the "Christmas Machine" were present in my life and the life of my extended family, where the ideals of the fifties continued into family traditions. Though some of the family wasn't complete as husband and wife, there was respect, love, and caring for everybody and each other. In retrospect, the largest thing missing from this picture postcard scene is the acknowledgement of the birth of Christ as the reason for all of this. And I remember that there wasn't much excess to the gift giving, there were a lot of presents as everybody exchanged, but there wasn't a lot of money spent. It was the family getting together, spending time in love with each other, making memories for everybody.
Christmas took on a different view as I got older. Grandma, then Grandad died, and there weren't any parade watching, cookouts on the back patio, blueberry and pear picking in the back orchards, or Christmas with all of the family. Celebrations turned inward in the individual families. For me, I needed to continue the sense of fellowship, even if it wasn't with family, so I travelled to friend's houses each Christmas Eve and took pictures of my friends standing next to their trees. One Christmas Eve, I was at a co-worker's family's house, the Tanguays', and as the night wound down toward midnight, the snow started falling. I walked to my car, listening carefully to the sound of the snow falling, and feeling it on my face. I drove very slowly back to my apartment, taking in the scene of the snowflakes dancing in the light of the streets and flying about the hood of my car. It was the epitome of Christmas, to have snow on Christmas day. And it was then that the importance of Christmas really took hold in my heart. Thank God for His Mercy!
Snow is in the forecast here at this blogger's house, to begin at daylight and accumulate to six inches or more. We don't exchange gifts anymore, except to the children, and the family celebration is at my in-law's house, not my own, as they have become my family and my friends over these twenty-two years that I've known them. For all of us, the Christmas Machine is unplugged and the true meaning of Christmas is what is alive in all of us, and one that we acknowledge in our prayers and our celebrations of Christmas. I hope you, the reader and friend of this site, have a wonderful and truly Merry Christmas this year.
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I let my mind wander a bit back toward the commercial view of Christmas. In the 1991 book "Unplug The Christmas Machine," the authors Jo Robinson and Jean Coppock Staeheli say that "economists estimate that we are spending more than the twenty billion dollars that was spent at Christmas time in 1982... The Christmas Machine (the commercial aspect of Christmas) has this power over us because it knows how to woo us; it speaks to the deepest, profoundest, and most sacred desires of the human heart. If it appeared as a monster, we would rise up and stop it. But the commercial messages of Christmas appear as promises that bring tears to our eyes. Look at the bounty that we are promised by the December magazines and the glowing Christmas commercials:
Our families will be together and be happy.
Our children will be well-behaved and grateful.
Our wives will be beautiful and nurturing.
Our husbands will be kind, generous and appreciative.
We will have enough money.
We will have enough time.
We will have fun.
We will be warm.
We will be safe.
We will be truly loved.
No wonder we stop, listen, and we want to believe." How many of you subscribe to all of these thoughts? The last time I felt this way completely was when I was a child back in 1962. Though at that time I was already part of a dysfunctional family (mother walked out the year before), Christmas at my grandmother's house was so memorable for the sights, the sounds, and the scents of the annual family gathering at her house.
Christmas day dawned early, too early for my grandparents, as my sister and I crept down the two flights of stairs from our third floor bedrooms. A quick look through the balusters of the stairs, and the Christmas tree in the foyer was loaded completely with presents, overflowing behind and under Grandma's chair. A sharp call from Granddad, and we scooted back upstairs to wait for everyone else to wake and come down stairs.
My grandparents house was a three story house that was part of a large farm when it was built in 1879. Its front door was on the right side of the house, which made it a center entrance colonial style. When the home was built, a stairway rose from the front door to the second floor. The attic or third floor had two bedrooms, the second floor three and a bath. Later modifications put another door on the street side, and the staircase was relocated near that new door. The foyer between the living and dining rooms where the old front door is was the location for the Christmas tree.
The house was painted an old yellow with black shutters and a large screened porch that was used during the summers to watch the Memorial Day and Independence Day parades on Elm St. The elm tree were long gone, victims of a blight, but maple and oak trees shaded the street during the summer. In the Christmas season, old electric candles shone through every window in the front and sides of the house. It was my job to plug them in every night, a task that took twenty minutes or more. The candle lamps were an old style bulb, not really white, but a cream color that blended in with the house color in the evenings. To me, that picture of the house lit with the candles was my idea of a house decorated for Christmas. My grandmother didn't do much else for decorating, save for a pine wreath that she made and hung on the front of the house next to the door.
When it was time to wake up, the scents of breakfast rose from the kitchen, eggs and bacon, fresh orange juice, toast and homemade jellies. Grandma was a good cook, but in the English tradition, not very spiced or flavored with herbs. Soon, the smell of the large turkey roasting in the oven joined the cacaphony of scents from the downstairs. My sister and I dressed, and ran down stairs to the tree.
The rule was, open one present before the rest of the relatives came (which always meant more presents!). My sister and I generally gravitated to the larger boxes, which in our limited experience usually meant a winter coat or a snow suit. That year, perhaps we smartened up a bit and we carefully looked through the stack of colorfully wrapped presents, me picking up a heavy round object with a silver bow. Hurredly I unwrapped the object with my father and grandfather standing by, and found a coffee can, with a brick inside, and a five dollar bill wrapped around the brick. That was my grandfather's gift, always looking for ways to be clever and different. But of course, I couldn't play with this, so I had to wait, and we went to eat breakfast as we stared at the clock.
Eleven o'clock, and my relatives began to come in. My Uncle David, with his new wife Lorraine, and baby cousin David. Great grandmother with Aunt Marion and Uncle Myron (who we called Junior). Uncle Homer and Aunt Susan. Uncle Elmer and his wife. And Aunt Barbara, who also lived in the house, and was about 20 years old at that time. And lots of presents! The pile of boxes in colors of red and green, silver and gold grew larger beneath the tree, even spilling into the other side facing the dining room. And soon, the cue was given from my grandmother to begin the presents!
As you might surmise from this scene, many of the promises of the "Christmas Machine" were present in my life and the life of my extended family, where the ideals of the fifties continued into family traditions. Though some of the family wasn't complete as husband and wife, there was respect, love, and caring for everybody and each other. In retrospect, the largest thing missing from this picture postcard scene is the acknowledgement of the birth of Christ as the reason for all of this. And I remember that there wasn't much excess to the gift giving, there were a lot of presents as everybody exchanged, but there wasn't a lot of money spent. It was the family getting together, spending time in love with each other, making memories for everybody.
Christmas took on a different view as I got older. Grandma, then Grandad died, and there weren't any parade watching, cookouts on the back patio, blueberry and pear picking in the back orchards, or Christmas with all of the family. Celebrations turned inward in the individual families. For me, I needed to continue the sense of fellowship, even if it wasn't with family, so I travelled to friend's houses each Christmas Eve and took pictures of my friends standing next to their trees. One Christmas Eve, I was at a co-worker's family's house, the Tanguays', and as the night wound down toward midnight, the snow started falling. I walked to my car, listening carefully to the sound of the snow falling, and feeling it on my face. I drove very slowly back to my apartment, taking in the scene of the snowflakes dancing in the light of the streets and flying about the hood of my car. It was the epitome of Christmas, to have snow on Christmas day. And it was then that the importance of Christmas really took hold in my heart. Thank God for His Mercy!
Snow is in the forecast here at this blogger's house, to begin at daylight and accumulate to six inches or more. We don't exchange gifts anymore, except to the children, and the family celebration is at my in-law's house, not my own, as they have become my family and my friends over these twenty-two years that I've known them. For all of us, the Christmas Machine is unplugged and the true meaning of Christmas is what is alive in all of us, and one that we acknowledge in our prayers and our celebrations of Christmas. I hope you, the reader and friend of this site, have a wonderful and truly Merry Christmas this year.
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