I love Christmas. I love the lights, and the tree, and the turkey, and the story, and the candlelight service, and being with family.
What I don’t love is Christmas in November. To me, Christmas is a special time of year; it’s not special all year. When Christmas decorations go up before Hallowe’en, I just have to put my foot down.
Have you noticed that Christmas seems to be creeping earlier and earlier? Apparently Harrod’s in London, England erected a Christmas display in August! I guess when Christmas accounts for 25% to 40% of many retailers’ annual sales, they want to extend that as long as possible.
Forgive me, though, if I don’t want to help them. Christmas shopping should start early—about 364 days early, to be exact. If we all bought our presents during the Boxing Day sales the year before, then we could relax. Of course, I never get around to actually doing that, and so I’m still rushing around like everyone else. But rushing around like a tasmanian devil on December 20 is part of getting in the Christmas spirit. Putting up a tree on November 10 just seems weird. In fact, one good thing about the deluge of rain that our country has received this fall is that at least people’s outside lights likely won’t go up until December. For that, I am grateful.
There’s a part of me that wishes Christmas could go back to being simplistic: we exchange a few gifts, enjoy a far too large meal, and visit with family. That sounds very Norman Rockwell. Somehow buying everyone you know crap doesn’t fit as well into that idyllic picture. It just makes us look like dupes.
And I wonder if that’s what we are. All the Christmas marketing has convinced us that we have to buy gifts for everyone who crosses our path. All we’re doing, though, is increasing the amount of junk in the world. How much of what we get, or give, at Christmas is actually necessary? My mother-in-law lives in dread that she will find her Christmas gifts to family discarded in Goodwill stores, so she now only buys what we absolutely need. Last year I got new frying pans. The year before brought new bowls. This year I’m looking forward to a nice set of measuring cups and wooden spoons. But at least she knows I’ll keep them.
What I really like, though, are the homemade gifts. One year we made homemade soap and bath salts for Rebecca’s teacher. I knit some scarves and ponchos for my nieces and sisters-in-law. Grandma sewed the girls some lovely nightgowns, and Aunt Tina made them tafetta dresses. My husband would love some of his mom’s Sweet Marie squares, but they always get devoured before we leave her house. I’ve tried to encourage my own kids to make more homemade gifts, but because I don’t really start the Christmas spirit—or shall I say the Christmas panic—until well into the end of November, we never seem to have time to finish them.
Which is, of course, why one heads off to the mall, defeated once again. I wish we could give more meaningful gifts at Christmas than another pair of slippers or box of chocolates—although chocolates are always welcome. I’m partial to World Vision’s idea of spreading Christmas cheer where it is needed most. You can purchase three little pigs or two hens and a rooster. The only catch is the pigs and the chickens don’t end up in your shed—they go to some farmers in Cambodia, or maybe Bolivia. You can order a gift certificate for a friend, and then give them the catalogue, and they pick the cause they want to support. It makes both of you feel warm and fuzzy, perhaps far more than a walk through a mall with canned Frosty the Snowman music and kitsch everywhere.
Don’t get me wrong; I do like buying presents for those I love. I just fear we’ve lost sight of the point of the holiday. I wish we could get back to a time when it was simply a happy time of gratitude and sharing and togetherness. You can’t buy that Harrod’s, even in August. Maybe that’s what we all need to figure out.
You can find Sheila at www.SheilaWrayGregoire.com, and three little pigs at www.worldvision.ca.
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