Christmas Shopping Discoveries

I’m not much into shopping.  My stretchy black pants still have some stretch to them.  The soles of my shoes aren’t flopping.  I don’t have a need to spend any time in a department store.

Except, at Christmas.

I wandered out today to check the first thing off of my Christmas To Do list.  Spend a couple hundred dollars on a young person I’ll never meet.  It is my privilege to help Santa out once a year.  List in hand I shop and pretend I’m an elf for a local charity.

I am a solitary shopper.  I array the things I’ve bought on the dining room table when I return home.  My husband takes a look and rubs my back.

“You did good!” he says.  “Thanks for taking care of this.  Did you put it on the Visa card?”

“So, how was shopping?” he asks because he knows I’m not a natural at it.

“The stores were mobbed.  I thought I’d missed Thanksgiving or something.  It was like being out on Black Friday.  I think the stores have sales papers that get the people in  earlier.  They even had real live breathing cashiers on every register.” I started.

“Tell me a story.” he requested as he started to prepare dinner.  He is the weekend cook.

“Well. I spent some time in the toy section.  I parked my cart in the towel aisle and wandered around the toys.  You couldn’t have gone down those aisles with a cart today.  This little girl I’m buying for loves Barbie.” I began my shopping extravaganza story.

“Barbie doesn’t seem to be as big a deal as she was when I was little.  I got some nice stuff…………but, I expected old Barb would have a whole aisle to herself.   And, you don’t remember this because you aren’t a girl……………in the 1960’s Barbie’s dimensions were very unlikely.  It was a struggle to dress that girl in all her finery.” I explained as he chopped some parsley.

“You would not believe what I discovered today!  Barbie now comes in all different shapes, sizes and colors!  There is petite Barbie.  One Barbie was in a wheelchair for some reason.  But, my favorite Barbie of all………….well, she didn’t have a name.  She was a big girl…………dressed in exercise gear.  This girl works out.  She lifts weights.  And, then on her way home?  She stops and buys a dozen donuts.  I loved this Barbie.” I said to my husband.

For some reason he had to put down the knife to bend over and have a good laugh.

“I checked this whole store out.  If only this little girl was into the movie Frozen.  You know Frozen.  It’s a Disney movie that little kids watch over and over again until their parents want to jump out a window. I could have been done shopping in ten minutes.  They have Frozen tee shirts.  Pajamas.  Candy.  Games.  Books.  In the sundry aisle they even had Frozen toothpaste and tooth brushes. ” I said.

My husband was now chopping up the garlic.  I thought perhaps he had stopped listening to me at Frozen pajamas.

So, I threw this out for his ears to hear.

“They even sell Frozen Hemorrhoid Cream, honey!  Swear to God.  Have you seen the commercial?  ‘Yesterday, it hurt to sit.  But, today it’s Frozen! I let it go, let it go……..”  I sung in my best commercial salesman voice.

I was lying of course.  Just to see if he was paying attention.

He had been listening.  He had to put the knife down again to walk around the kitchen hooting and hollering.

Perhaps, this is one of the reasons he keeps me around.

 

Waiting In Line With Santa

Our internet had been so slow……so my son talked with the cable tech guy. He said to turn in our old modem for a new one and that should probably do the trick.

I sat in line for a half an hour to change boxes at the cable company.

Santa came and sat next to me. Yes, he even curls his beard. He had his little granddaughter with him.

The little girl noticed me noticing the man next to me. Curly white beard. Denim shorts…….red tee shirt over his big belly…..holly on his suspenders.

“I know what you’re thinking.” said the little girl.

“You do? Wow, are you a mind reader or something?” I asked to pass the time.

“You are thinking he is Santa.” she said.

“Oh, I figured he was Santa. That would make you an elf, right?” I asked.

“No, silly! I’m not an elf! I’m his granddaughter!” she squealed with delight.

“Prove it.” I said. Santa started to chuckle.

“How can I prove it?” she wanted to know.

“Elves have pointy ears. Let’s see your ears.” I demanded.

She showed me her ears.

They were slightly pointy.

Yup, pointy little ears.  Santa was now having a big old belly laugh at the disbelief on my face.

The little girl smiled up at me with big china blue doll eyes.

“Well,  look at those ears!” I exclaimed.  “Those are the most beautiful ears I’ve ever seen.  Just perfect!”

Santa looked around at all the people patiently waiting.

“How long do you think this is going to take?” he asked me.  He handed his red phone to the little girl so she could play Candy Crush.  I know nothing about the game.  By now, I was supposing she was crushing candy canes.

“Well, I think the lady in the green shorts is in front of me.  So, you are third in line.  If you’re in a hurry, Santa, you can go before me.” I offered.

“No, no need.  Santa is never in a hurry in the month of May.” he answered with a chuckle.

My number was called.  I changed out my modem.  The young man on the computer even helped me figure out how to lower my cable bill.  I figured that half hour in line was well worth it.

I went to leave.  I waved to Santa and his little companion.  Santa’s number was called.  The little girl stood up on the chair in front of the window.  She watched me head to my car.

That’s when I noticed the long shiny white Cadillac sedan parked next to my little Fiesta.  I walked all around that big beautiful car to take in the art work.  I was looking at the most wonderful car paint job I’d ever seen.

The trunk was painted green with golden scrolls.  It looked like a sleigh.  The top of the trunk had wonderful 3-D artwork that looked like dolls and teddy bears and wrapped gifts spilling out.  The sides of the car had muscular realistic reindeer itching to take flight.

I looked back at the cable store front.

The little girl was jumping in her chair with a big old smile on her face.  I laughed to see her laughing at me.

She drew her hair back and patted the top of her ear.

Then she blew me a kiss.

I blew one back.

Save It For Best

When what to my wondering eye should appear………………but, two vintage tablecloths hanging in a forgotten basement closet.

The temperatures had plummeted from 68 degrees to 28 in a few days.  I was in the basement trying to figure out where I stashed boxes of boots and winter hats and mittens.

The tablecloths were a surprise.

Oh, I remember them now.  My mother gave them to me years ago.  I’d say she must have bought them new in about 1960.

I haven’t seen my mother in over twenty years.  That’s how I think of it anyways.  She died in 1998.  But, I think of her every day.  I hear my voice saying things that she used to say.  Especially the things that used to drive me nuts.

I’m starting to look just like her.  At funerals………….very old people jump a good foot in the air …………….and gasp out her name.  “Ellie?”

I suppose I’m a lot like my mother in more ways than just looks.  The voice is similar.  Attitude…………..point of view…………..but, we were different in many ways also.

My mother grew up during The Depression.  She was part of a very large family that struggled to pay the rent and feed a crowd three times a day.  You didn’t spend money on something just because it was pretty.  Just because you wanted it badly.  That money bought another loaf of bread and another bag of potatoes.

So, for the rest of her life………….whatever she owned…………..serviceable or pretty………..was well taken care of.

Oh, I heard the stories of hardship but I never lived it.  My father left a farm boy existence and by sheer will ended up with an aeronautical engineering degree.  I was never poor a day in my life.

But, I watched.  I saw them saving for a rainy day.  Fixing things instead of buying new.  Hand me downs………….that one was a little rough, as my two older siblings were boys.  I grew up in corduroy and plaid play clothes and cowboy pajamas.  I didn’t care because I was dressed like any other girl when I went to school.

My mother dressed me like a doll when we went to church.  I didn’t like that much……..but, then I’ve already told that story.

The difference between me and my mother………….oh, I blame her.  Isn’t that the way though?  It’s all her fault and she’s not around any longer to argue with me.

She cared too much what the neighbors thought …….way too much…………and, well…. I just don’t give a hoot.

And, then…………….there’s the whole “Save It For Best!” way of life.

Ma saved everything for best.  Even, when it made no sense.  I don’t.  I wear the dress while it’s new and in style.  I am willing to scuff up shoes by actually wearing them.  I use the best dishes just because I want to.  If I break a fancy wine glass?  I know I can replace it on Ebay.

But, my Ma………..too many things were deemed too nice for every day.  From underwear……………to dresses……….to shoes……and I put up a fight.  Oh, I knew where this way of thinking came from.  But, the point I tried to make from the time I could speak up for myself was …………let me wear it!  I’m still growing.  Six months from now …………..these things won’t fit me.

Oh, she knew I made sense.  But, she’d still put up a squawk about me playing jump rope in my second best shoes.  She’d yell about it out the kitchen window and I’d reply as the rope slapped the pavement.

“Who am I saving these for?  They’re already getting too tight.  Got another week left in these shoes, Ma!  Then Daddy gets to take me shoe shopping!  Yay!”  I’d reply to the window.

I always had Daddy take me shoe shopping.  I could talk that man into buying me anything.  Don’t get mad at me.  I hardly ever took advantage of him…………..too badly.

We had a den in our little house.  We called it the Junky Room.  I thought every one had a Junky Room.  It was full of old beat up furniture that my mother didn’t care about.  That was the room where you stayed home sick in.  A day of soap operas and chicken soup and ginger ale.  And, she didn’t care if you spilled in there.

But, the living room?  Oh, that wasn’t for living in.  The house was too small to have a room just for show………….but, my mother did it her way anyways.

She squirreled away a lot of her grocery money.  Money my father thought had gone into his stomach.  Money that he hadn’t known about or he would have thrown it into the savings account for that big old rainy day.

One Saturday Ma grabbed her purse and told my father to get his car keys.  They were going to Main Street.  To the one and only furniture store.  And, she was going to come home with a truck full of new living room furniture.

We all looked at her like she had two heads.  New furniture when the old stuff from WWII still had springs in it that sprung?

“And, where is the money for this coming from?” asked my father the Depression Farm Boy.

My mother opened her purse and slid her thumb along the tops of a lot of not so crisp twenty dollar bills.

“What the hell?” my father exclaimed.

“Oh, keep your shirt on.  You gave me grocery money for steak.  My corn chowder is better than any old steak.  You never noticed.” she answered as she marched out to the car.

For some reason I wasn’t invited on this adventure.  I’m thinking my taste and my mother’s taste were so different……………..she didn’t want me trying to change her mind about the furnishings she’d been dreaming of.

The ones in the front window of the one and only furniture store in town.

I watched out of the window.  The station wagon came screeching back up the driveway.  My father came slamming back into the kitchen.  He took a measuring tape out of the junk drawer.

“Not the way I thought my day was going to go, Little Girl.  Not at all.” he said as he departed again shaking his head.

They were back in two hours.  Moving men stripped the living room of furniture that had been born when Ike was President.  They deposited a turquoise satin sofa against the long living room wall.  Two armchairs were pushed into position with a lot of instructions by my mother.  The fabric on those were a light green with turquoise accents.

I was stunned.

The furniture was stunning.

The delivery men left.  My father stood staring at what was once the living room he was used to.

“Damn…………….damn……………….now, I suppose I have to spend all weekend painting this room.” he murmured to the peacock on one of the new throw pillows.

“Got that right!”  my mother said as she kicked off her shoes and rolled all around on the new satin sofa.

My mother laughed at the shocked expression on my face.

“Not what you imagined I’d pick out, Little Girl?” she asked as she stroked the fabric with the back of her hand.

“No.” I squeaked out.

That woman could surprise you sometimes.

She clapped her hands together.

“So, in a week I’ll get plastic covers from G. Fox delivered.  To cover this furniture.  So, it will stay beautiful forever!  No eating in here.  No drinking in here.  I do not want to see your dirty bare feet in here ever.  Wear slippers for heaven’s sake.”  she started as she went to the desk drawer and drew out the phone book.

“Order me a pizza, Ralph.  A really BIG one.  I want leftovers.  This room needs to be painted and there’s no cooking until I get it just the way I want it.”

The room turned out to be beautiful.  The only activity that ever took place in that room was my mother reading her evening paper in peace.  The opening of presents on Christmas morning.

The whole family spent many years moaning and groaning that the furniture was covered in plastic.  It was cold in the winter.  It was hot and stuck to your legs in the summer.  If you complained in front of my mother………………she’d tell you to get the heck out of her living room.  Go make your messes in the Junky Room.

She was saving that furniture for best!

Jump ahead forty years.   Ma was gone and Daddy was living alone in their little house.  The house he promised her he’d keep clean and take care of.  I spent about twenty years trying to get him to throw away the plastic on that furniture.

“You leave things the way your mother left it, Little Girl!” he said sternly to me.

Daddy eventually needed nursing care in the last few years before he went to be with my mother.  My brothers and I had to sell the house to pay for that care.  We all took a few keepsakes.  Photos.  Our third grade report cards.  Dishes and art from the walls.

But, the furniture?  None of us had room for it.

My brother said he’d put that living room set in a yard sale.  He’d give it away if he had to.

“Oh, no you won’t!” I advised him.  “You’ll take photos of that without the plastic.  You will list in on Craig’s List.  That is Vintage Original 70’s Brady Bunch Furniture In Pristine Condition.”

He took notes.

“Ask for $1,000.” I told him.  He thought I was nuts.  He took $950 from the first person that looked at it.

My mother had a collection of holiday tablecloths.  They are in pristine condition also.  She gave them all to me when she was alive.  She liked to dress up my house.  They are in pristine condition because she always covered them with plastic when they were on her own table.

She would hand me such things every time she visited here.

“Use it.  Enjoy it!  Don’t save it for best! ” she’d say when she’d see her things displayed in my house.

And, I have.

The only thing I save for best are my memories of the days spent with my parents.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas Dollhouse

I remember a nose to nose conversation with my mother.  I was very young and had a bone to pick with her.

“I don’t want to play with her……………she’s so little……….she knows nothing.  She just follows me around with a big smile on her face.  She’s freaking me out!” I declared to my Ma in a loud whisper.

“Oh, boy!” my mother whispered back.  “You’re used to being the youngest aren’t you?  Well, your little cousin is the littlest one of all.  No, she doesn’t know how to play games because no one has ever taught her.  If you want her to jump rope?  You need to teach her how to.  If you want to play the card game War?  You need to show her how.  You’re the teacher now.  Be kind and that little girl will love you even when she grows up to be an old lady some day.”

So I did.

My little cousin was four years younger than I was.  I was the baby of my family so a young person was kind of foreign to me.  We spent a lot of time together because our mothers were close.  I became the teacher.

I never took advantage.  I was idolized.  I could have led that little girl astray.  But, I never did.  I pretended to be her big sister and I took that job seriously.

Christmas was coming.  I showed my little cousin how to color in our Santa Claus coloring books.  Outline the part of the picture in heavy crayon and then color it in.  The outline helps you stay within the lines.

Christmas presents?  Easy.  You don’t need to spend money.  Make something with your own hands I counseled her.

Years went by.  Years of giving each other bracelets braided out of yarn.  Candles molded from cookie cutters.  Montages of family photos glued in the shape of peace signs.

I was fifteen and she was eleven.  A horrible ice storm hit our county right before Christmas.  It ruined weeks of Christmas shopping.  It almost cancelled Christmas all together.

But, the electricity was restored in time to illuminate the day before Christmas.

Our house was the designated Christmas house.  We pulled it off but there had been the added complication of a house fire during that time of power outage.  Our fireplace had burned so hot the end wall of the living room had been set alight.  911 was called and the firemen had deemed fit to chop a wall down and use fire extinguishers on the Christmas tree , the manger scene and everything else under the tree.

The insurance adjuster came.  A check was written.  My family flew around and cleaned and brought in groceries.  Christmas was saved.  Presents that were already under the tree had been ruined but were replaced by sending teams out with lists in hand.

But, the handmade things…………..well, they couldn’t be replaced.

Many decades went by.

I spoke with my cousin on the phone.  You know………….just catching up.  There was a lot of “Do you remember when?” in the conversations because we didn’t talk enough throughout the year.

“I remember the year…”my little cousin remembered.  “I remember the Christmas when you had that fire.  Do you remember how we used to give each other handmade gifts?”

“Yes, I do.  I seem to remember you gave me your velvet choker with the pink embroidered butterfly that I was always borrowing and forgetting to return.  And, you also painted a vase with pink and purple stripes.  You went wild that year.  You learned to sew and made me a hot pink velvet throw pillow.” I remembered.

I added……………..”The thing I made for you got destroyed by the firemen and their extinguisher foam.  So , I used some of my paper route money to buy you your first bottle of real perfume.  I can’t remember what it was called………..but, it was what every girl wanted.  I remember the shape of the bottle and how it smelled.”

“Did you?”she asked.  “Hmmmm……………sounds familiar.”

“But, you know what?  I remember your mother taking me out to the back yard.  Under the covered porch.  On the picnic table.  There was a dollhouse.  It was made out of wood.  Inside the dollhouse looked just like your living room.  The picture window.  The Christmas tree in the corner.  The armchair and the sofa.  The bookcase with books in it.  The people.  You made cardboard people and dressed them in cloth outfits.  You cut photos up and put faces on the people.  All of us were there.  The dolls with my face and your face were lying on the floor………….underneath the tree…………….coloring in a little book.” my cousin remembered.

“Your mother said that this is what you made for me.  She wanted me to see it before she threw it out.  It had been ruined and waterlogged by the fire fighters.  But, she had it all set up.  She told me how hard you had worked on that little dollhouse for me.  She wanted me to see it before she had to throw it out.  She wanted me to know how much you loved me.” my cousin remembered.

“I’m an old lady now.  But, I remember. I’ll never forget that dollhouse you made for me ………the one you never got to give to me.” she added.