Last year I wrote a blog on the "War on Christmas" and where a lot of our traditions came from. And guess what? I UPDATED IT! (The So-Called War on Christmas)
This year, I wanted to write something because I really do love this time of year. I thought of researching holidays that occur at this time of year, but then I thought I would share something personal. My own memories of Christmas. So here we go...in no particular order.
🎄🐈Cats and Christmas Trees🎄 🐈
The first tree I remember was a little table top tree. It sat on this real pretty table we had in front of the picture window in my Grandpa's house. Our first cat, Clover, continuously knocked it down. It turned out that Clover was quite put out because the tree was occupying the place where his fuzzy butt sat to look out the window. So we upgraded to a full-size tree.
So we have that beautiful full size tree. One night I'm playing with Clover but it was a bit one-sided. Both Mom and Grandpa had told me to leave him alone. Next thing I knew, he went up the tree and the tree and Clover landed on me. There were broken ornaments all around me, chaos and confusion. My Mom and Grandpa both jumped up and rushed to me to see if I had been cut or hurt by any of the broken ornaments now on top of me. I felt surrounded by love and concern and it is one of the most cherished memories of my life. Okay, who
Moral of the story: Mom started tying the top of the tree to the curtain rod and replaced any ornaments that survived with unbreakable ones. I started listening when they told me to leave the
cat alone because when I didn't, I got the inevitable "Do you remember what happened the last time you bothered that damn cat??"
Minor stuff would happen every year until I was fourteen. At the time we had two cats, Clover and Max. We soon would be adopting a third one, Tabitha. Max was really not too accepting of his new sister. I have to mention that this was in February, and yes, we still had our tree up. There were issues going on and the tree comforted me. The first or second night we had Tabitha, I heard a huge racket out in the front room. I went out to see what was happening. And what to my wondering eyes should appear but one pissed off black cat in the middle of dozens of ornaments that were on the tree until
he went all passive-aggressive on it. He did come to love her. So much so that a mere few months later we desperately called the vet asking "You're SURE he's neutered, right??!!"
The final year we had a tree up was 10 years ago. After waking up one morning and finding Teige looking at her in only the way a light colored cat can look with his pupils dilated. The next Christmas, we had two more kittens and decided not too.
PJ
PJ deserves his own paragraph. A cute little black and white tuxedo with a sweet, loving personality who defied the laws of nature to do some of the things he did...especially gravity. My Mom has said that if he had been our first cat, he would've been the last one we ever had.
His first Christmas he knocked down the tree 12 times. We had to completely redo it for Christmas Day when we were having our family over. Mom said the next time it went down, it went down. And yes, we still tied the tree to the curtain rod. We'd walk in and half of it would be dangling, and the other half on the ground. He would also jump up and walk the curtain rod...and "Oh, gee!
Wherever did this temptuous piece of yarn come from? Oh my, it's tied in a knot. It's stuck! Don't worry, yarn. I'll free you!!" Yes, he would chew through the yarn we used to tie the tree up...and then knock it over. Nothing was ever dull with him.
We also would outline the entrances to the kitchen and our wall shelf units with lights. And PJ would literally follow behind her so
he could unplug them. In a feline sort of way. In a way where they couldn't be plugged in again.
I used to make Christmas cookies from scratch. And let's just say that cooking, period, was not easy around this cute little furball. He considered every bowl, pot, or pan as a challenge for him to curl up in. One Christmas, we were leaving for the store to get ingredients when I realized my car stereo was stolen. Don't worry, it was broken. We got the groceries, walked them in and called 911. The officer showed up before we could put them away and we went to show him my car. We came back to a White Christmas. The kitchen was covered in flour. PJ had gotten into the
sack, spread it everywhere, and was sitting on what was left of the bag, covered with it himself, looking very cute and innocent. We laughed. Too bad there weren't cell phones back then. The officer stared in disbelief while he kept on saying "I'd kill him, I swear. I would honestly kill him."
I worked on those cookies. I slaved over them. Made them from scratch, decorated, everything. After our family gathering, where PJ tried to take food off of everyone's plates (it was potluck style with us sitting on couch and chairs,) Mom forgot to put the cookies away. Or to rephrase, Mom forgot to put the cookies somewhere where PJ couldn't get them. That was usually the microwave or oven. We woke up the next morning realizing what happened. He didn't destroy all of them, just knocked some off. We didn't really know
the full scope of how many until three months later. I was walking into the kitchen and saw him eating something in the hallway. I went over to see what he was doing. Can you guess? Yup, he was eating a Christmas cookie. He had stashed some away somewhere until they really disgusting to eat.
Our friends thought PJ was hysterical and found it a challenge to buy "PJ proof" gifts.
I've always loved Christmas lights. Lots and lots and lots of lights. There can never be too many lights. When I was a kid, I would get up at night after everyone had gone to bed, turn on the tree and stare at the lights while singing Carols. Mostly "Silent Night." And
one of my favorite places to go to was Cosley Farm (Now Cosley Zoo) in Wheaton. There put up lights everywhere where they could put them up. We were always surprised that they didn't put them on the animals. They sold real Christmas trees, wreaths, and garland and served either hot apple cider or hot chocolate. There was nothing more perfect than being there, with the lights, the Christmas carols when the snow was falling. And there was nothing more perfect than seeing fresh mounds of snow over lights. It was always particularly magical to me.
At a book fair in school, I got "Twas the Night Before Christmas." I still have that book, and another Christmas book I have is "How the Scrooge Stole Christmas." I particularly love that one. He couldn't
steal Christmas because Christmas isn't about the trees, lights, and roast beast. It comes from the love and spirit within us. Christmas is about giving and helping. Never is the spirit of generosity seen more at this time of year. It's as easy as saying "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" to a complete stranger and to reflect upon the year that has passed and the year to come.
Other Christmastime stories I love are "The Little Drummer Boy" - no gift is too small if it is given from the heart. And the "Gift of the Magi" - the sacrificed something to make the person they loved the most happy. That was also the theme for "Emmet Otter's Jugband
Christmas" - a Muppet Christmas special. And it was always exciting to watch Rudolph and Frosty, and the Grinch, and any Christmas special that was on.
There's the Christmas Story - a movie that takes place in the 1950's and Ralph's quest to get an air-gun for Christmas. There are so many things that remind me of my family. My Mom would bundle us up like Ralph's mom did with his younger brother, and the father
reminds me so much of my Grandpa. I can see Grandpa trying to fix the furnace - or not fix it, and have that battle with the neighbor's dog.
But what I remember most is our family gatherings. We were blessed to have a large family and good times. Uncle Dick was the cool Uncle, who bought us the cool stuff. The kind of stuff that our Mom wouldn't ever, ever conceive of buying us. I mean, why buy a peeing doll if you had just finished toilet training? One year I got a
Chipmunks Christmas album from Santa and played that for awhile, at least until Grandpa figure it out. In other years, my cousin, who is a violinist, would sit in the hall and play carols. I remember the year it was 27 below zero and the pipes in the kitchen froze. Mom had to wash dishes out of the tub and we were having thirty people over. I also remember that day when she was talking to my Aunt, looked out the window and said "There's some ass out there walking." Then she looked closer. It was my Grandpa walking from my Step-Grandma's house to get the car (he shared it with Mom) so he could finish some last minute shopping. He filled it with gas, said the hell with it and brought it back. The reason why he was walking? My Step-Grandma Tommie suggested that he called my Mom to come pick
him up. Maybe if she hadn't said anything, he would've called Mom. I still have an envelope where he had put money in for Christmas and it said "If you buy something Durand Durand, you'll get whacked whacked." He meant Duran Duran, of course.
Every year my Mom made beet eggs. Basically, they are boiled eggs that are left to soak in beets with beet juice, vinegar, and
sugar. And the smell was awful. Fumigation was a must. But it was tradition and it was a family rule that if you take an egg (did I mention that it was a PURPLE egg?), you had to have a beet. If you didn't eat a beet egg with a beet, you weren't a member of the family. I was adopted then. And it is extremely odd that my Mother chose the one baby to adopt that looked uncannily like her. Every once in awhile there was a cousin who would sneak them on my plate, if I was near him. Another family dish that I refused to have anything to do with was creamed corn and oysters. I hated seafood. My Mom hated seafood and I have no idea to this day why she had to make them.
But the real family tradition was "The Recipe." Southern Comfort Punch. It was nice and smooth and went down easy. I can honestly say that Southern Comfort Punch fortified my belief in Santa Claus.
I had opened my presents and was eating breakfast when I looked out the window and saw a package in the driveway. Santa's helper was a wee bit tipsy and dropped one. Another time, that silly little elf forgot to fill our stockings. And I'm not talking small stockings, either. These were extra large latch-hooked stockings that Mom made us that could fit a Mack truck or two. The year she, err, the elf, forgot to fill them, she had my sister and I wait in our room while she called Santa to lodge a formal complaint against that riffraff that he employed. Well, he put Mom in her place, I'll tell you! She was genuinely surprised to hear that she wasn't talking to Santa after all, but someone who was hired to pretend to be Santa, was on a 12-hour shift, and was about to end
his shift and get drunk. He explained to my Mom that there was no such thing as Santa Claus and if she wanted to make sure that we got all our presents to stop drinking and to really, really stop blaming it on an elf that doesn't even exist and accept that her and her family had a problem with Southern Comfort Punch.
But seriously though, my Mom spent every extra cent on my sister and I at Christmas. Grandpa always gave her money, but not until after Christmas. I don't know how she did it, but she did. Her love
for us was poured into each gift she put under the tree. It took a long time to figure this out. It makes me love her more knowing that. The biggest gift I ever received was her.
Christmas to me in encapsulated in love, warmth, light, and happiness. I saw, and still see, love, renewal, giving, hope, and faith.
I hope and pray that you have a blessed Christmas this year, filled with all that and more. And I wish nothing but peace and continued success through the new year. And if you don't celebrate the Christian Christmas, I still wish that those blessings fill your year to come with peace and continued success.
