Christmas Oranges

A few years ago, when Macey first got a Christmas stocking at our house, she was puzzled by the extra large orange in the toe of the stocking.  "An orange?" she asked quizzically.  That got me to thinking about the tradition we have in our family about putting oranges in Christmas stockings, and I wanted to write it down.

When I was a kid, stockings hung on the wrought iron divider between the living room and dining room.  Initially they were the traditional red and white fur ones, our names written on them with glitter glue by Mom so we could tell them apart.  Eventually we each got striped ones.  Mine was red, white, and green.  I still have both.

Stockings were always an afterthought for us kids in our Christmas toy frenzy.  We'd be so busy playing with all the goodies Santa brought that we wouldn't even think about the stockings.  Midway through the morning, one of us would remember: Stockings! and we would sprint towards them, hanging off the wrought iron, stuffed with goodies.  Sometimes I would remember before my sisters, but I wouldn't say anything because having those stuffed stockings hanging there kept Christmas going just a little bit longer.

They were filled with chocolate Santas and foil Christmas bells and candy canes. Hershey Kisses and Rolos. Sometimes small toys like those water games with the rings that you try to get on the little pegs or the Wooly Willy with the metal shavings that you could use to give him hair or a beard.  Sometimes we got Tinker Bell nail polish or Dr. Pepper flavored lip balm.  There was always a handful of nuts in the shell (Almonds were the best. Brazil nuts the worst.  Who can crack those shells anyway???)  At the bottom of the stocking was a giant red apple and a softball sized orange.  Mom told us they were so big because they came from the North Pole.  The fact that apples and oranges don't grow that far north not being an issue because, well, Santa.

We always knew we were at the end of the stocking when we got to the fruit.  It always tasted just a little bit sweeter than usual, and I liked to keep mine in my stocking so I could eat my North Pole fruit on my own time, savoring each delicious bite.

When I became a mom, I continued the North Pole apple and oranges but not the nuts.  I would go to Kroger a day or two before Christmas Eve and look for the biggest most perfect specimens I could find and hide them away until the big night.  I continued the story of how they came from the North Pole with my kids, and they always looked forward to eating fruit from Santa.  Eventually, oranges became the only fruit put in the stockings.  Still big, bright, and blemish-free.  

My mom was born in 1939, so figuring that her family got fruit from Santa, this is nearly a 100-year old tradition.

When I got to thinking about why we put fruit in our stockings, I thought about how Mom didn't have the luxury of year-round oranges when she was a girl.  Citrus was a seasonal fruit back then and also fairly pricey, especially for her mom who was a widow with 7 kids.  It would have been a real treat to get an orange and some nuts and candy in her stocking.  My dad, who grew up in a more well-off family, also got fruit in his stocking.  He loved tangerines, and his sister told me the other day that they always got a tangerine in their stocking.  

So we continue this tradition, whose meaning, like many traditions, may one day be lost to time.  I give my kids oranges because my mom gave us oranges because her mom gave her oranges...I hope this will continue on into the next generation because those North Pole oranges are just so much sweeter than regular ones.

The Year Without a Christmas Letter

Every year, I have copied and pasted our Christmas letter to this blog so I can have a record of what happened in the weeks and months before. I pride myself on my quirky ruminations and tell myself that people enjoy reading what I write. Ha. 

This year was different. This year, I got disgusted with photo cards and other people's good news. I don't care this year. It has been a crappy year, and I didn't have the energy to pretend otherwise. I sent old fashioned Christmas cards and was hard pressed to do that. 

I thought about trying to write a clever letter using the analogy of the flooded campsite on our trip to Virginia Beach in July. It would have been a funny but poignant letter. I would have talked about how all of the signs were there...the marshy ground, the lack of grass, the ruts from tires driving in mud...How we didn't pay attention to any of the signs, and how we were shocked when we came back from the aquarium to find our site in 5 inches of standing water. How we bugged out and went to a hotel and then found a new campsite nowhere near the beach, which was my main objective for camping. How we were put on a hill at the next site, which was fine, but challenging, and how freaking hot it was and how the bugs just ate us up, leaving welts that stayed for days and days. 

I would have figured out a way to work all that into what this year was like. Kirk flying to Minnesota all the time to help with his dad, who was stuck in the basement because he couldn't do the stairs, his mom trying to take care of him but not succeeding. Kirk's work laying people off right and left, the writing on the wall for him but trying to ignore that his job was in jeopardy. Me getting an extra class at the last minute, something I'd never taught before and wasn't interested in teaching at all. 

Then Kirk's dad being dropped at the rehab center, which fractured his neck and spinal vertebrae.  Getting the call at 2 a.m. that if Kirk was hoping to see his dad before he passed, he should come now. Milt's injuries, caused by negligence, killing him a few days later. The trip to Minnesota for the funeral, seeing for myself how Jean should not be alone anymore because she has memory loss and her friends and neighbors are worried about her and wondering why we aren't doing anything. Coming home to begin the search for a place for her. One of the few good things finding a nice place a mile away from our house. Bringing her here on the sly because she wouldn't have come if she had thought she was staying for good. Having her live with us for an entire month. Finding furniture at the consignment stores and pretending we had it in storage so she wouldn't stress about the cost. Finally moving her in to her new place to "try it out for a few weeks" and thankfully, praise God, finding she likes it. 

Then Kirk losing his job like he thought he might. Severance til the end of the year. Me still working, doing back to back senior retreats between Thanksgiving and Christmas that were incredibly stressful. Still trying to have meaningful lessons while being out for two full weeks. Trying to shop and have a good Christmas but worried about money (again). Not being able to do much of what I wanted to prepare for the holidays... 

And all these sound like first world problems as I look back over this, but damn, it was a hard year, and I had no idea how to put this in a Christmas letter, so I just didn't. 

The end.