My aunt and I share a chuckle this time of the year when we talk about my mother—her sister—and Christmas gift giving. As my mother aged and became less able to do anything, my aunt, a “crafter” herself, engaged and entertained Mother as much as she could with projects and activities.
One Christmas-time project was making and decorating bookmarks. While they labored over the task, Mother decided the bookmark she was making would be her Christmas gift to her pastor. Her pastor was a really special person who lived more than 100 miles from Mother’s new residence. Even so, he continued to visit her regularly and was her designated minister to “preach her funeral.”
Mother completed the creation of the bookmark, and in typical Mother fashion, laid it down on the table and rubbed her hands together in the “I’m done with that” motion. And she said, “Thank goodness I’ve gotten that out of the way.”
We laugh, but this exemplified Mother’s attitude about Christmas—feeling she had so much to do to provide the best Christmas possible, and it had to be done in a particular way. This seemingly robbed her of her own enjoyment.
The middle child of a Great Depression-era family, Mother loved Christmas. It grew, of course, from her meager childhood Christmases. She began in late summer asking my sister and me what we wanted for Christmas.
Mother scoured the countryside for what she thought was just the right doll for me, and now I have collector’s items. There was the Christmas we hid from my sister until Christmas morning a piano in the house, partly by distracting her after it was delivered late the day before Christmas. Thus began our Christmas Eve tradition of driving all over town to “see the lights” until we were so tired we’d fall asleep quickly upon returning home.
We were a small family. Add two sons-in-law and one grandchild, and we still only numbered seven. But, from Mother’s kitchen came cakes, pies, cookies, candies and all sorts of nibbles—enough to cover a table by itself. Always, as the season drew to a close, we heard, “I guess I’ll just have to take all this to the office for people to eat.” An abundance of treats meant Christmas to her, no matter how difficult the work for her or the amount that went uneaten by us.
As much as Mother wanted Christmas to be outstanding for everyone, she couldn’t get past the burden or the “ought-ness” for herself in order to make it so. I can’t recall a single time of her just sitting down, enjoying being with her family or really tasting one of her own concoctions.
Women sometimes hear a saying inside their heads, “Oh lord, I sound just like Mother.” This echoes for me no more than at this time of the year.
In my best moments, I know the success of Christmas isn’t up to me. Christmas is already special. Each person can celebrate and find meaning in his or her own way. More and more, I choose to celebrate by just being instead of through ought-ness.
But thank goodness I’ve finally gotten this blog posted. I’m done with it!
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