Published in the Idaho State Journal on Dec 26, 2018.
During a scant block of solitude this week, I put on a Pandora Christmas station, added a dash of eggnog to my coffee and settled in to wrap presents for the kids. I wrap like a kindergartner –with more jagged crumples than smooth creases and so much excitement I don’t imagine the recipient will notice the botched Scotch tape. Wrapping presents becomes a meditative exercise and as I find my Zen, I find myself recalling bits of Christmases past.
During a scant block of solitude this week, I put on a Pandora Christmas station, added a dash of eggnog to my coffee and settled in to wrap presents for the kids. I wrap like a kindergartner –with more jagged crumples than smooth creases and so much excitement I don’t imagine the recipient will notice the botched Scotch tape. Wrapping presents becomes a meditative exercise and as I find my Zen, I find myself recalling bits of Christmases past.
My mom did a magnificent job making Christmas magical when I
was a kid. A couple of her specific schemes come to mind.
Our tree topper was a plastic Tinkerbell-inspired angel in a
crushed red velvet dress with gold cardboard wings. Her jeweled shoes were
highlighted with a spritz of tinsel. Her name was Angel. When I was really
little, Mom convinced me that Angel was barely hanging on atop the tree, and I
needed to keep an eye on her so she didn’t fall. The most stoic moments of my
life were at age three, sitting at the base of the tree amidst the colorful
glow looking up and pleading, “Don’t fall, Angel. Don’t fall.”
Who gets a three year old to be calm on Christmas Eve? And
how? My mom was a wise woman.
My parents divorced when I was four, and although Christmas
celebrations changed, Angel was a constant. When it was just Mom and me, it was
clear who presents under the tree were for and from, but Mom added a touch of
enchantment. She labeled the gift tags as though presents were from famous
people or fictional characters. At first I received gifts from Mickey Mouse,
Winnie the Pooh and Wonder Woman. As I got older and my interests and knowledge
broadened, I’d see gifts from Eleanor Roosevelt, Robin Williams and Axl Rose.
Our Christmases never held extravagant or expensive gifts, so
this element of wonder stayed with me. The creative labels brought more merriment
and fantasy to the holiday, and it showed that Mom was tuned in to my expanding
pursuits, that she knew me. Sometimes as much thought went into the labels as it
did the gifts. Often, she’d give me hints. I got a Crayola Caddy from Vincent
Van Gogh and a Walkman cassette player was a joint gift from Cindi Lauper and
George Michael. And I always got
something from Angel.
I do this with the kids today. It’s fun to see them look for
the gift tags rather than simply counting the presents or gauging their sizes
and contents. The labels introduce a Christmas connection. This year, they’re getting chocolates from
Willy Wonka, a science experiment from Albert Einstein, and the oldest, who’s
interested in law school, has gifts from Michelle Obama and Ruth Bader
Ginsberg. Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson,
Nikola Tesla and Abe Lincoln are also among this year’s gift-givers at our
house.
The kids are too old to be tricked into tranquility over a
tree topper four times their age, but after their mom and I got married and I
explained the history of Angel, they welcomed this bit of my personal history
into our family’s blend of holiday traditions. But sadly, there will be no
presents from Angel this year.
During a decoration cleanup, our golden doodle Wiley Wayne
chewed her beyond repair. I was devastated. As I was examining the depth of my
disappointment, I was able to put it in context. My mom died a month after my
28th Christmas, and Angel made it to my 44th. My tree topper spent more Christmases with me
than my mother.
 |
| Hard to be mad at that face, but... |
 |
| Just sadness |
My wife’s heroic googling prowess found a tree topper on
EBay almost identical to Angel. It was still in the vintage 1970’s box. She was
afraid to give it to me and worried how I’d react. She knew that Angel couldn’t
be replaced. Yet when I recall those still flashes of my childhood, the new
tree topper’s wings were as shiny and her cheeks, as rosy as Angel’s when I
first met her.
We named the new tree topper Rosie because of those cheeks
and in honor of Mom’s love of Rosie the Riveter and her “We Can Do It” motto. Rosie’s dress is a deep gold where Angel’s was
red, so this helps make Rosie uniquely ours.
As our family’s holiday traditions continue to mesh and
evolve, Rosie is something, or rather, someone we have together. I wonder what she will get everyone for
Christmas this year.
 |
| Rosie |
