When I was nineteen years old, I got married in late November, and one of our wedding gifts was a dozen hand-decorated (crochet) Christmas ornaments. That was the start of it. Oh my goodness, I made ornaments, I bought ornaments, other people gave me ornaments, I looked for ornaments when we traveled, I took my grandmother Bessie's ornaments home when we were cleaning out her house after her death … As you will have guessed, now I have several boxes of them.
As a young married woman, I decorated every room in the house. Because I wasn't just obsessed with ornaments for the tree. I loved decorating. I have a whole little Christmas village of buildings accumulated over twenty years or so. (The first few came from Bessie's place.) I made a lot of "Christmas cookies" each year—mostly snickerdoodles and chocolate chip. Every year I made a baked ham for Christmas day dinner.
As a young mother with a son born on December tenth, the rule was to not decorate for Christmas until after the birthday party. A few years later the Christmas efforts included a decree from my young son to have (yummy) sausage balls on hand for enjoying while we unwrapped presents—because they were that good. (And simple to make.) The cookie tradition was a must too.
As a recently divorced single mom living in a 600-square-foot apartment, Christmas looked a bit different (most of it was in a rented storage unit about half a block away), but there were still lots of presents and sausage balls. I'd grown up in a family that loved gift-giving (I suspect their origins as children of the Great Depression had something to do with it) and indulged in it. Santa, of course, had no time for wrapping, so his gifts showed up on the night of Christmas Eve after the kids were asleep, and were never wrapped, of course.
When Jesse was ten, I bought the small home we'd live in for the next thirteen years. He'd graduate from high school there, start college from that home. There wasn't a lot of room for decorating, but there was always a wreath on the door and a tree in front of the picture window facing the street. Presents and sausage balls.
During those latter years we—along with some of my family—started new twists on Christmas. For example, during Jesse's sophomore year of high school, during his Christmas break, he and I went to England to visit a friend and her husband. (We actually visited a French town with them on that trip too. I saw how Europeans decorated for Christmas, which was less about lights and more about life-sized Santas posed on roofs.) We have done Christmas on Tybee Island a couple times (and Gerry came for one of them). We were visitors in other people's homes, and we hosted visitors in our home. Traveling on Christmas is enjoyable—it makes that day a whole different occasion. Especially when you're on the beach.
Gerry and I bought a larger home (room for guests!) in 2007, and Jesse finished college and went off to grad school at Arizona State University. My son has never actually lived in this house, aside from visits. Then, a new phase entirely: Jesse became a touring musician for a few years. He'd come home at Christmas, of course—usually arriving on Christmas Day, due to concerts on Christmas Eve and even Christmas morning. I'd have everything ready, of course (except for the Tybee Island visit, Gerry still spent Christmas in Dublin during those years), and run to the Nashville Airport to get him. These were the years that taught me, by observation, the beauty of flying on Christmas Day: it's very low key.
Gerry introduced me to teabrack, a sort of fruit cake (dried fruit instead of candied) and I love it so much I make it all year, though always at Christmas. I have two very different apple cake recipes I enjoy making at Christmastime too.
When Jesse ended up back in Arizona, I went to him for Christmas, so add Phoenix to the list of places I've been at Christmas more than once.
In the last decade (my sixties) I've remarried (Gerry!) and my immigrant husband has moved here. Meanwhile my son has married, joined the US Navy Fleet Band, and become a father himself. We've spent three Christmases where he has been—two in Newport, Rhode Island (and the surrounding New England states), and one in Japan. Often flying the low-stress way on Christmas Day. I bring the sausage balls with me.
When we travel, of course, all bets are off. Sure, I put a wreath on the front door. But if I had to wager a guess, I'd say that in the last fifteen years, we've put the tree up fewer times than we have not. Decorating is not as much fun, you see, now that we are old. (That said, if you tell me my grandgirl's gonna be here for Christmas, look out!) We enjoy a low-stress holiday, and after talking to a lot of my friends, I've learned most of us find the decorating aspect the least enjoyable part of it. For us, it's family, food, friends … and perhaps that one special gift.
I know what I want it to be, too, in some future Christmas. I want to take our kids—Jesse, Katie, Sybil—to Dublin for Christmas. I want to tour them around the country to some of my favorite places, but I want to end up on Grafton Street on Christmas Eve, listening to the street buskers. We already know they'd like to go.
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