Oh Christmas Tree

Picking out our Christmas tree every year was always a major ordeal. Unbeknownst to us kids, it was Dad's job to take us out tree-shopping so Mom could sort and wrap the Christmas presents.  It was her way of making sure we were out of the house for an extended period of time and that Dad did something towards Christmas preparations.  But that wasn't the part that was the ordeal.

The ordeal came because no matter what, Dad and us girls never, ever picked out a tree that suited Mom.  That is until we came up with the idea for the Christmas tree lunch.

When we were very young, we would go to a nearby fruit and vegetable stand called "Jigg's."  Jigg's sold produce in the summer, pumpkins in the fall, and Christmas trees in the winter.  After Christmas, Jigg's would close up shop until spring.  The stand was on the way to church and school, and I always knew Christmas was coming when those triangle-shaped stands went up right before Thanksgiving.

There were always a couple of dozen trees hanging in the stands as well as a nearby pile to choose from if the ones hanging up didn't work.  We'd walk through the rows, looking at the merits of each tree, turning it to check for bare spots, making sure the trunk wasn't crooked, measuring the height.  It had to be about 7 feet tall and a douglas fir.  Mom liked that kind best because the branches were sturdy enough to hold the lights and spaced far enough apart to showcase the ornaments.

We would look and look, and I always felt bad passing by the ones that didn't measure up, until we finally found the right tree.  The worker would saw the bottom off and rope it to the roof of the car, and we'd head home anxious to show Mom this year's tree.

But every year, there was something...it was too short or there was a bare spot or the trunk was crooked...It didn't matter that once the lights and decorations got on, it would look great.  The imperfections just screamed at her, and that's all she could see.

Finally one year, after an argument because we'd brought home a tree that was so short we had to place it on milk crates covered with a sheet to make it tall enough, Mom suggested that next time we go to the tree stand in the Consolidated parking lot.  "You need to go to more than one place!" she said. "You need to SPEND SOME TIME looking for a tree!"

So the next year, we skipped Jigg's and headed over to Consolidated to see what their trees looked like.  We looked and looked.  Up and down row after row until we couldn't remember where we saw a tree that might have worked.  Finally, we found one that maybe had a bare spot or maybe a crooked trunk, but we didn't care.  We'd been looking for a Christmas tree for a couple of hours.  We were cold and hungry and just wanted to go home.

When we pulled it off the top of the car and showed it to Mom, she still wasn't satisfied even thought we'd gotten the tree from the lot she suggested.  My dad just shook his head and mumbled something under his breath and plunked the tree down in a bucket of water until we could get it inside to decorate.

At some point the next fall, my mom and dad were enjoying an evening with a couple they were friends with, when Mom and the other dad hatched a plan for the dads to take all of us kids over to Indiana to cut down our own tree.  We all thought that was a great idea! Visions of trekking through the snowy woods and finding the ultimate Christmas tree illuminated by a single sunbeam permeated my every thought.

On the appointed Saturday, we loaded into a leisure van my dad had borrowed from one of the Chevrolet dealers he knew, and we drove over to Indiana.  This was not a Christmas tree farm in today's sense of the word.  This was a farm that had an occasional Christmas tree-type of tree on it that we could cut down. We piled out of the car, the dads carrying axes, and headed into the woods to find "the tree," but all we could find were cedar trees, and we knew Mom wouldn't go for that at all.  We hiked and hiked, and it was cold.  I don't think we were even on the tree farm property at this point, but finally we found a tree that we thought would work.  It was nice and full and had a straight trunk and no bare spots, so we claimed it as ours.  Our friends found a tree too, and Dad and Mr. B proceeded to cut them both down.

Did you know that a tree out in the woods looks a lot smaller than it is in real life?

We hauled that tree back to where we parked, but we couldn't get it in the van.  It was too tall.  We got our friends' tree loaded onto their car, but ours wouldn't fit.  And as we tried one way and then another, the back window broke out of that borrowed van when someone tried to close the rear door and hit the trunk of the tree.

Needless to say that Dad was the unhappy one that year.

So, Jigg's was out.  Consolidated didn't work.  Cutting down our own tree, while scoring us a great tree, also incurred a broken van window, so that was a no-go.  It seemed like nothing we did worked.  We'd never find a tree that was the perfect tree.

The next year, with a sense of dread but a determination to make Mom happy, we piled in the car and headed out yet again.

"Where are we going this year?" one of my sisters asked.

"It doesn't matter where we go," I said, "we will never get the perfect tree."

The gravel crunched under our tires, as we pulled into Jigg's for the umpteenth year and tumbled out of the car to look.  And right away, we found a pretty good tree.  Not too tall, not too short, not too many bare spots, fairly straight trunk...So we bought it.

There was just one problem...If we went home already, Mom was sure to find something wrong with the tree, and then she'd tell us that we hadn't shopped in enough lots or spent enough time looking at trees...

So after we tied the tree to the roof of the car, Dad said, "Well, we can't go home yet.  Want to go to lunch?"

And that's how our Christmas tree shopping tradition started.  We'd go to one lot, pick out a tree, and then go to lunch. Sometimes we'd go to McDonalds, but we usually went to Mr. Gatti's so we could each get that personal sized pizza we so loved.  We'd even park in the back in the off-chance that Mom would be driving down Dixie Highway and see our car parked out front and wonder what the heck we were doing at Mr. Gatti's.  When we came home, we'd tell Mom that we looked all over and finally, FINALLY found this tree.  And you know what?  She usually loved them!  We had found the recipe for the perfect tree.  It had nothing to do with bare spots or straight trunks.  It had everything to do with spending the right amount of time looking for the perfect tree that made it so.

We didn't tell Mom for years.  In fact, I think I was well into my late 20s or early 30s before we finally spilled the beans.  She was not amused.  But those days of the Christmas tree lunches are some of my favorite memories, and I wouldn't trade them for the most perfect tree in the world.

Christmas Savings

The bank was in what had once been an old fish and chips restaurant. I remembered eating there and trying to like the food because I loved how the windows looked as if they belonged on the captain's quarters of a pirate ship.  The panes were small, with a yellow cast to them, and I used to pretend like I was on the ocean whenever we ate there.

But now it was a bank, and we stopped in after school once a week for Mom to deposit money in her Christmas savings account.  I hated that.  I was too little to wait in the car, and the inside of the building no longer looked like a pirate mess hall with heavy wooden tables and chairs.  It was just a regular old bank.  Boring except for the windows, but even they weren't the same.

Mom was diligent about putting money in the Christmas savings.  She opened it in the summer and paid on it regularly.  I'm not sure where she got the money because she wasn't working at the time.  Probably it came out of the grocery money or maybe my dad slipped her a $10 bill every week.  Regardless, every week, we'd stop at the bank that used to be a fish and chips restaurant and make a deposit.

Once she started working at OLC, she opened Christmas savings for my sisters and me.  At the end of the payment period, right around Thanksgiving, we'd each get a sweet $25 to use to buy presents for our loved ones.  That seemed like a ton of money to us back in the day.

I would try to budget out how much to spend on each person and found out that $25 didn't go very far once I got down to it.  I figured Mom and Dad deserved the best presents, so I'd allot $5 each for them.  Then there were my sisters at $2.50 each, my grandma and whichever cousin I drew for the gift exchange at Granny's house, and if there was anything left, something for my friends.

My dad was easy.  Every year, all he asked for was "shorts (boxers), shirts (undershirts), and socks (Gold Toe, either blue, brown, or black).  Occasionally, he'd ask for a tie, but Mom would have to go in on that with us, so we usually stuck to the usual, the difference being who had to give Dad underwear that year.  I can remember standing in the Men's Department at Bacon's in Shively agonizing over which pair of socks to get Dad.  The wall was filled with all shades of blues, browns and blacks.  Thin or thick?  What about a pattern this year?  Nothing crazy, just tone on tone, but maybe a dot or a different weave???  No, just the usual.  Gold Toe, blue, brown, or black.  If they were on sale, we could get two or three pair for $5.  It was always a score when that happened.  "Three pair of socks!  Yes!"

The shorts and shirts were standard Hanes or Fruit of the Loom, again whatever was on sale.  And always white, always boxers, always crew necks.  Never plaids or briefs or v-necks.  Same ol', same ol'.  So getting to be the one who got to buy Dad socks was something!  At least you had a choice.  Regardless, we took pride in wrapping everything as nicely as we could, and when he opened each one, Dad would say, "Shorts!  Just what I needed!  Thank you!" like he was thrilled to get new underwear for Christmas.

Mom was harder to buy for.  We always wanted to get her something special, but what can you get special for $5?  I remember going to the Ladies' Department, again at Bacon's, and looking at house slippers, which was something she regularly got.  They would max out my budget and then some, but they were so soft and new, in pinks and powder blues with roses embroidered across the foot...Mom's slippers were always worn and even washing couldn't take the dirt out after awhile.  One of us usually got her a pair of slippers, nothing fancy though.  Just regular Dearfoams.  Terrycloth mostly.  Closed toe.  Anything else was too hot.

I can remember going up to Otto Drugs and buying Mom a bottle of Oil of Olay or a necklace from the jewelry counter.  One year, she had a Home Interiors party, and there was an alabaster owl that was in my budget.  I was determined to get it.  I sidled up to the party rep and whispered what I wanted to do.  She promised to help me and keep it secret from Mom.  I handed over the $4 that the owl cost and waited for what seemed like forever for it to come.  I don't know how she did it.  My guess is that she told Mom of my plan, and Mom played dumb, but I got the owl and hid it under my bed until Christmas morning.  When she finally opened it, Mom was so surprised.  "How did you get this without me knowing?" she asked.  And I'm fairly positive it did not fit with any of her home decor, but that owl sat on the end table in the living room for years.  She even wrote a little story about it, and when we cleaned Dad's house out, I brought it home to mine.

My sisters would get gloves or a jewelry box or some such trinket. My grandma...Rose Silk lotion. My friends would usually get a LifeSavers candy book (tangerine, please) or a giant candy cane.  In a good year, they would score a one-pound Hershey's candy bar.  Again, Otto Drugs was the place to shop.

All of this to say that the whole process of saving the money (although it wasn't mine to start with), planning a budget, and buying presents for family and friends was such a thrill.  It was challenging for me to figure out how to make it work to get something for everyone, and I felt so smart when I was able to do it.

And I know my parents and my grandma could have bought their own underwear, slippers, or lotion, but it didn't matter to them what they got as long as we made the effort to pick it out.  It was the process not the present, and I never, ever felt like Mom or Dad was disappointed in what I had given them for Christmas.

I think that is lost today.  We get so wrapped up in the gift that we forget the giving behind it.  This Christmas, I hope we can all remember the thrill of giving a new pair of Gold Toe socks or a beautiful alabaster owl.

Christmas 2016

Christmas 2016

On the morning of August 31, 2016, my kids gathered in the kitchen before the girls left for school for one more group hug.  They do that a lot, those three, but the hugs usually end up with Kyle tickling the girls and hilarity ensuing. Not so this particular morning.  This time, the hug ended with tears and “I love yous” and “I’ll miss you so much” Kyle was leaving later that day for a semester studying at the University of Luneburg in Germany, and the hug was their goodbye.  He would be gone when they got home from school. 

Kirk and I drove Kyle to the airport, checked his bag, and walked with him to security.  We got our hugs too, along with final words of wisdom…Keep a copy of your passport with you at all time…Don’t leave your things unattended…Pay attention to your surroundings…We stood there while he passed through the gate, got his shoes back on, and headed down the terminal, getting smaller and smaller until he turned the corner and was out of sight.  I cried then.  I felt like that dad in the car commercial handing keys to his daughter who he still sees as a preschooler. 

Kirk headed on to work, but I wanted to stay until Kyle’s plane had taken off in case there was a delay.  I decided to drive over to the cell phone lot and watch from there.  I texted Kyle to see where he was on the plane, and luckily, he was on the side facing me.  I waved.  He said he saw me.  I stood there watching, waiting until the plane pulled away from the terminal and began to taxi down the runway.  Tears streaming down my face, I jumped up and down and waved my arms as it lifted off, hoping Kyle could see me as he began the adventure of a lifetime.  He will miss Christmas for the first time this year (he’s spending it in Ireland, so don’t feel too bad for him!) and gets home on Jan. 4.  We can’t wait to see him!

Kyle is not the only one who we had to let fly this year.  Claire spent 5 weeks at Morehead University this summer participating in the Governor’s Scholar Program.  Then she spent another week doing service work in Kentucky with Y-Corps, so she was gone for much of the summer.  Now she is busy finishing up college applications and scholarship essays.  I can’t believe she’s almost in her final semester of high school. 

Emily and I hung out a lot this summer.  It was nice, but weird, just having one child at home.  For most of  July, we drove back and forth to New Albany as she rehearsed for Hairspray with New Albany RiverStage Theater.  She started Sacred Heart and jumped right in and got a role in 42^nd Street, joined the Y-Club and the choir.  She’s made tons of new friends and loves school.

Kirk celebrates a year at The Jump Agency and is still doing National Guard on the weekends.  I got a very part-time job at…wait for it…Locust Grove!  I’m working on the occasional weekend in the Visitor’s Center doing visitor center things.  I have spent enough time there over the years, might as well get paid for it!

As we wind up 2016, may you find yourself surrounded by the ones you love, embraced in the biggest group hug you could ever ask for, and may it always end in hilarity!

Peace!