Curious George: Favourite Christmas Memories
It's been a long while since I've had singularly memorable Christmas memories. Thinking back, though, I do have some good ones. What are yours?
And to start it off:
When I was eight or nine, two days before Christmas, my mom, little brother, and older sister, and I cooked Christmas cookies and various holiday treats. The kitchen and dining room smelled so festive, and with holiday classics playing on NPR, the mood was incredibly cheerful and bright. I remember there was a fire in the stove, and the Christmas tree was lit up like a sunset. There was no snow, but there was the feeling outside that it might snow, and I remember hoping, just hoping for a white Christmas.
That is a fond memory.
Or not to start it off...
Oops. Sorry, I just got so excited.
*Bites lip, opens presents early anyway*
Eh, I think my best christmas memory was when I realised christ was a myth and the christian religion a sham. Still get a sticky feeling inside when I remember that.
The one when I found out who was really putting those gifts under the tree and the toys on the list inside my shoe.
For some strange reason, knowing the truth made me really enjoy those times, at least for a few years.
Now I'm a stooge scrooge. Bah, humbug.
In 2001, I spent my first Christmas not with family. I went to Belize with my boyfriend & friends and it was the best Christmas I have ever had. (Christmas with my extended family, although fun, has become a consumer-fest that culminates in opening gifts for FOUR HOURS, I kid you not.)
On Christmas Day, we got up early and went snorkeling off of the Ambergris Caye coral reefs, had a fabulous lunch of seafood and beer on the beach, more snorkeling, then back to the mainland for dinner out. It was warm and breezy and you could see the stars over the ocean. I will never forget it.
All my childhood Christmases (Christmii? doesn't sound right) are sort of melted into one memory.
My parents would always decree a time before which they were not to be awakened, usually 7 am. I was always wide awake long before that, and I'd stay in bed, watching the clock, practically vibrating with excitement. After awhile I'd just go in and stare at them sleeping, listening to my father snore, careful not to make a noise. At 7 *exactly* I would pounce on them and yell "Merry Christmas!"
That lasted long past the year I learned the truth about Santa, or particularly cared what I was going to unwrap the next morning. I was in college by the time my parents had to wake *me* up, and I begged for more sleep...
This is going to be my first Christmas away from the Family. As much as I bitch about them, this is really rather depressing. I'm going to have to come up with something to do Christmas Day...
Some of the best Christmasses for me and my daughter were when we lived too far away to do Christmas with the extended family. We had always loved to traditions of Christmas at "home," so we made our own traditions - special tree ornaments that we added to each year, an eccentric blinking tree light thing that could be set in various combinations, one of which was "disco tree", where the tree seemed to spin around and around. Other configurations would make mesmerizing shadows on the walls and ceiling. Better than a fireplace.
We'd experiment with recipes and came up with a spectacular line up. (My favorite was when my sister and her son came to share. The smallish turkey options were sold out, so I told my sister we'd have meatloaf. Her expression was priceless. The meatloaf was, in fact, an Italian wonder, stuffed with sausage, cheese and hardboiled eggs, covered with seasoned tomato sauce. They still talk about how good it was.)
Friends and the few nearby family members would show up. Gift giving was pretty minimal. It was a celebration of closeness, stories, jokes and tradition (even if the last was just made upthat year.)
And, on prevliew: thursday, the secret is to start your special traditions for celebrations when you're on your own. My daughter, Christophine, did some great stuff after I was down sized and had to move away from her. I'll turn it over to her.
I don't remember many of my childhood Christmases. The ones I remember being fun were those in my mid- to late teens, when the five of us kids would come up with all kinds of devious ways to peek at each others' presents in the weeks leading up to Christmas and then early on Christmas Day. My mother would put out the presents every night, when we were asleep, then build a complex booby-trap to keep us out of the living room until it was time to get up. She'd then climb out a living room window and in through her bedroom window, or sleep on the couch. My sister and I, the oldest, would be woken by the younger three at about 5am. We'd compare stockings, then make the traditional attempt at a raid on the living room, usually failing badly.
The one year we did get in, she slept on the couch and caught us out. We had to wait an extra hour before opening the presents while she got to open hers in front of us.
Listening to my mom's very worn Johnny Mathis LP crackle away while stuffing my tummy with mincemeat cookies and Tom 'n Jerries - - and digging through the old ornaments packed away in this dilapidated orange crate, wondering what memories there must be from those years past...
Happy Holidays and all that mess to all 'ya Monkeys out there! It's been a good month + since I've logged on, new job keeps me too bloody busy, and the preggers wife about to pop any day now. How I miss my MoFi...
*SNIFF* *SNIFF*
I had a job that prevented me from going home for Christmas. We had to work Christmas Eve, had Christmas Day off, and had to be back at work the day after. No one was allowed to take any vacation time at all during December and January. I'd always been with family for Christmas, and the first year that I couldn't go home, I was really depressed. It was too great a distance to warrant the drive, and our big celebration was traditionally on Christmas Eve rather than Day.
The second year, I decided that I'd rather not mope around. As path said, it wasn't about either rampant consumerism or the religious aspects of Christmas for us. But we did have some familial traditions that fostered a lot of closeness and special feelings, and made it a happy time for us.
My roommate at the time also was unable to have a family Christmas that year, and it was her first time away from family. I told her about my experience the previous year, and my realization that it was about the traditions that fostered closeness that made the season special for me. In the absence of the familial traditions, I suggested that we start our own, with our mutual friends. She hadn't thought about what made Christmas special for her with her family, but agreed to give my suggestion a try.
We bought clear glass ornaments and painted them for our tree. We hand-beaded garlands, including one made by a friend who came over. He took a pair of large, round beads, strung just those, and hung them low on our tree. Our Christmas tree had balls, man. We bought cheap felt reindeer antlers with bells and baubles hanging from them, and wore them anytime we went out. I insisted on being called Blitzen for a month, and dubbed my roommate Vixen. Other friends got in on the act, and we soon had one Christmas elf (he bought the giant felt elf ears) and a whole herd of people in antlers who would only answer to reindeer names. On Christmas Eve, I wore my antlers to work, and the rest of the herd plus elf showed up there partway through the night, bringing Christmas cookies and carols for all of us stuck doing escrow processing all night.
On Christmas Day, we had an orphans' Christmas, and invited all our friends who had no family to spend the time with. I cooked up a storm, with a roast capon stuffed with sausage, scallion, hazelnut, and cornbread stuffing, cheddar and scallion mashed potatoes, orange and pomegranate salad with pomegranate viniagrette, asparagus with sesame mayonaisse, and brandied pumpkin pies with a chocolate cookie crust and ginger whipped cream. The only thing that failed was the gravy, since I'd never made any before and neither had anyone else there. After dinner, we made cranberry margaritas and played card games, reminisced and joked, and didn't stop until our downstairs neighbor asked us to stop laughing so loudly around 3 in the morning.
We kept on celebrating after I got done at work every night, until our final celebration on New Year's Day. I was cooking dinner again - turkey mulligatawny soup with coriander - for the Christmas orphans. Two of them were absolute clowns, and had me laughing so hard that I managed to walk right into the refrigerator with my hands full of chopped coriander. Coriander went everywhere, and I sprained my ankle. We figured that nothing was going to top that unless someone succeeded in laughing their way into a heart attack, so dinner that night was the last of the celebrating.
One thing that became a big tradition with us was making a "wish" ornament when we were painting the rest of the glass things we'd bought. It was a somewhat pagan thing we did, but it was something we loved doing. We'd take a piece of white ribbon and write on it one wish or accomplishment we wanted for the coming year. We'd put the ribbon inside the ornament, and then paint the outside with related imagery or symbolism that meant something to us. We'd hang it on the tree in a very prominent spot, so it would represent a reminder, a focus of our thoughts; a recipient, if you will, of any energy we wanted to throw toward the planning and accomplishment of the wish inside the ornament. I have two of these, one each for two Christmases, and accomplished those goals before the next Christmas rolled around.
My roommate and I also managed to help out a friend with his wish, even though he didn't put it into a "wish ornament."
The guy who hung balls on our Christmas tree had horrible memories of past Christmases. He came from an extremely abusive family, and about the least toxic of his memories was being locked in his room for three days without food or water over Christmas Eve, Christmas day, and the day after. When he was a teen, some friends had tried inviting him to their family gatherings, and those were characterized by a lot of uncomfortable silences while he was there, since no one quite knew how to talk to someone who'd been through what he'd been through.
He came to our celebration rather grudgingly, but willing to try because my roommate and I were both friends he cared for very much. It was more because he didn't want to disappoint us than because he thought he'd enjoy any aspect of it. But the whole thing turned out to be a very transformational experience for him. He enjoyed every moment. He's told me since that it made him realize that even for him, making his own traditions with people he cares about, and buildiing memories of laughter, caring, good food, clowning, and affection could redeem what had been for him a time of year that had nothing but anger and depression. Since my roommate and I both moved away, he has been making his own holiday traditions and looks forward to having so many good memories that they will outweigh and overwhelm the bad.
He'd always wanted to experience some of the joy he'd seen others have during the season. The thing that makes our celebration mean the most for me from that year is that we gave him a place to start, and were able to give him his first happy memories of the Christmas season.
We miss you too SugarMilkTea! *sniff*
My favorite thing about Christmas is the predictable round of tradition. As path and Christophine said, that's the best part of the season, not all the stuff you get. On Christmas Eve we'd go to my maternal grandparents' house, eat waaaay too much, then open presents from the extended family. We'd usually also hit church, which was always fun because we'd get to sing Christmas carols. My family's philosophy of singing is "if you can't sing good, sing loud." My mom and I compete to see who can belt it out the loudest, and we always end up cracking each other up. Then Christmas day my grandparents would always come over to our house to watch us open presents and eat my mom's once-a-year pancake feast. (The whole time I was growing up I thought pancakes were really hard to make since I got them so seldomly!) Then we'd head back to the grandparents' for another meal with the extra-extended family. The only sad part of the season was going over to my paternal grandparents', because we're not very close to that side of the family because of the crazy.
I'm actually a little worried about this Christmas. My maternal grandparents have both passed on, and most of my extended family is going to be out of town. I'll use path and Christophine's advice, though, and try to start up some new traditions :)
My first Christmas with the Missus was a good one. We were dating, lived roughly eight hours apart -- her in Nashville, me in SW Missouri. I had no cash for gifts because I was saving up money to move out there the following summer and finally be with her, so when I apologized in advance, she said, "Oh, just make me something. Don't spend money."
So I did. I gathered up a bunch of old flannel shirts, pajama bottoms, sweatshirts and the like that I wasn't wearing anymore, cut them up into rectangles, and with my mom's help, sewed them all together into one big quilt. I was quite proud of myself.
We met at our usual halfway point, the Super 8 Motel in Poplar Bluff. Not much to do in Poplar Bluff except go to the lake, hang out at Hastings, or screw at the Super 8. It was too cold for the lake. So we holed up in the hotel, really only coming out for meals, and exchanged gifts on the bed. She opened hers first and started laughing.
"Open yours," she said, and I did, and I saw why she was laughing. She'd crocheted me one big damn blue afghan. Completely unintentionally, that year was Blanket Christmas.
It was both funny and cool -- we'd traded something warm and soft and comforting that we made with our own hands that Christmas, our first as a couple. I've got it wrapped around me right now.
When her dad heard what I got her, he gave a look that indicated he didn't quite know what to make of a prospective son-in-law who quilts. "Well, your Granny would be proud," he said.
one of my most vivid early memories:
when i was three or four, we lived in australia and went travelling in a camper van during the christmas holiday.
i was very nervous, convinced that santa would not be able to find us as we were moving around so much.
moreover, there was a distinct lack of chimney on the van, so i couldn't figure out how he'd gain entry to deposit my present.
got to hand it to the old guy - i leapt through the division between the sleeping area and the driving seat on christmas morning to find exactly what i'd asked for. a good twenty years before gps, santa had managed to track us down.
Some of my favorite memories were of staring out the window on Christmas Eve, hoping to see Rudolph's nose. We lived not too far from Newark Airport, so there were plenty of Rudolph sightings. Also, getting the plate of cookies together for Santa. We always saved the prettiest cookies for him. It was always so hard to fall asleep on Christmas Eve - the anticipation, and the blinking lights on the house next door, the sugar high from munching on cookies all night - but we'd be up bright and early to sneak a peek at what Santa had left for us.
These days, my favorite traditions are
- the cookie bake-a-thon (that's this coming weekend), where we get some of the family and hopefully a few friends together to bake and decorate about a hundred dozen cookies (no joke!). My brother and his friends always make "special" cookies, like battleship shaped cookies, or South Park characters, or Giants Stadium, or favorite athletes or movie characters. They're always inedible because of the excessive amount of sprinkles/colored sugar used to decorate them.
- drinking eggnog and doing shots on Christmas Eve, psyching ourselves up for a long night of all the wrapping we've left until the last minute.
- eating cookies for breakfast on Christmas morning.
- the annual poker game that breaks out late on Christmas night.
- the huge bash that we throw every year at my parents' house the weekend after Christmas for all of our friends. This will be the 20th year we're doing it. There's nothing quite like a house full of people talking and laughing and dancing and eating and drinking and singing. I'm looking forward to that more than Christmas Day.
We didn't celebrate Christmas in my family - in fact this year is the first time I've heard my mom say she's going to buy my young cousins presents (under duress, she claims).
But when I was very widdle, there was this big cardboard box which once contained our TV or something. On Christmas Day, my dad would cart it out, and I put my very worn satin quilt coverlet (which was given to my parents when I was born, I believe) into the box, making a cozy little nest. I then put in "A Very Smurfy Christmas" and a Christmas album by the Chipmunks on the stereo*. I would ensconce myself in the box, and listen to the albums over and over. The rest of my family very wisely stayed as far from the living room as possible during that time. I think I did that for at least three years, until I really couldn't fit into that box anymore.
*Being very precocious as a child, I learnt how to operate the VCR when I was two and a half, and the stereo when I was three. But it took me 24 months to learn how to walk.
Being a Brit, we didn't have cranberry sauce until the mid-80's. The first Christmas we had it, my Grandad exclaimed, "What do you want jam on the meat for?".
My Mum putting Handel's Messiah on.
The introduction of not being allowed to open the presents until after the Queen's speech (we soon put a stop to that idea!).
Using my Mum's pinking shears to cut last year's cards up to make gift tags.
My Dad trying to set fire to the pudding with some brandy.
Well, Christmas will be different this year, now that I am parentless. But my brother and sister and their families are here, my friends are here.
I'm not religious at all, I guess I just love the traditions, the decorations, the gifts, and most of all the atmosphere. I'll be making an extra effort to get in the swing.
Merry Christmas(/whatever) to you all!
The first Christmas I didn't have to spend with my ex-wife's family. The stories I could tell (including the infamous, "But he doesn't look like a Jew..." comment) but I hope none of y'all would believe me, because I know I wouldn't if I hadn't lived it.
On a less cynical note, and not so much Christmas itself, but being in Salem, Ma., a few days before Christmas and watching snow falling and finally 'getting' some of what a White Christmas is about. Earlier today I glanced at the thermometer in my room and discovered that it was a chilly 96F. I imagine many people who live with snow year in and year out would probably happily trade it for warmer weather, but it's a trade I'd take in the opposite direction in a second.
Last Christmas, about 4:30 p.m. I was sitting sideways on the couch, just awakened from a little afternoon snoozable. I could hear my boys in the other room, playing with their new toys; my wife was cooking homemade pumpkin pies, and the entire house smelled of them; the sky had just turned that shade of blue that seems far too rich for human eyes and saturates the whole of the earth; Jean-Luc Ponty was tinnily ringing out from the downstairs stereo; the tabletop TV was on, over in the corner, muted, with Basil Rathbone silently playing some gray medieval role; and the timer for the tree lights snapped to attention, filling my nap-drowsy world with red and gold and white. Magic and satori in one.
There was the year I got makeup for Christmas. My mom & I had fought for a couple of years over the issue but she had always said no way, you're not old enough to wear makeup yet. But all my friends were wearing it, and her saying no was so very unfair in ways only a teenager understands, right? So getting it as a gift from her that year was a total surprise, and I was thrilled to finally have the chance to try it on.
I felt very grownup when I came downstairs with dark blue eyeshadow up to my eyebrows. Looking back now, I think my parents actually giggled.
Fave Chris Mem? Glad you asked. For some years now, I have had a shiny red nose. So shiny that - if you ever saw it - you might even say that it glows. Unfortunately, due to this colourful deformity, many of my friends used to laugh and call me names, and would never let poor quidnunc join in any of their games or associated leisure activities.
Then, one foggy christmas eve, Santa came to me and said: "jesus quidnunc, you've really got to stay off the fucking piss, brother". Then I vomited on my shoes. Good times.
We didn't want to tell you sire, but you were talking to the mirror.
*hic* whazzabuzza goddam it youza I'ma WHO TOOK MY PANTS away frozza sheesh I *hic* HA HA HA youf
Aww, MCT you made me cry... and here I am at work and all.
I went to school on a farm in Vermont. Over the holidays a few students had to stay behind to take care of the animals. One year, my turn fell on Christmas. I remember the smell of fresh hay and clean sawdust. The warm cow smell, the way they blow steam from their nose as they chew their cud. The sound and smell of the milk as it hit the pails (we milked by hand). Even for someone who always thought of the big J as an important, revolutionary person, but no more God's son than you or I, this day was pure magic.
This was a fond Christmas memory. Even if it was in February.
One of my most vivid Christmas memories didn't even happen in my own family's celebrations. This was back in high school; my sister and I had a very close friend whose father had died earlier that year. His mother, understandably, wasn't really in the mood to decorate or do much in the way of celebrating, and he was the only sibling still at home. He decided to take matters into his own hands, and invited us to help him put up a Christmas tree. We trudged through the snow and mud to the woods behind his house, singing Christmas songs and getting sillier the wetter, colder, and dirtier we got. We finally got a tree chosen and cut, but by the time we dragged it back to the house and got it into the stand, it was soaking wet and covered with ice. We let it sit for a while to dry before decorating. He got the ornaments down from the attic, and told us all the old family stories behind them. The lights looked like they'd come over on the Ark; they were the ones with the big, old-fashioned glass bulbs with scratched color-coating; the kind where you have to check each bulb or the whole string won't work. When we put them on the wet tree, they started to shoot sparks because the branches were still too wet. We pulled them off and blow-dried the tree until we it was safe to put them back on. Whenever I decorate the Christmas tree, that's what I remember. It was so sad and yet very sweet and uplifting.
When I was 6 I stabbed jesus in the face.
He's totally gonna smite you for that. Probably with his terrible swift cock.
I have pretty bad eyesight, and as a child/teenager I loved to sit on the couch in the dark living room with my glasses off and watch the xmas tree lights blink and twinkle (they get big and smeery without the specs---very pretty)
but mostly I hate xmas, bah humbug, I would like to stab jesus in the face too.
happy holiday!
My favourite Christmases were when I was a youngster, and looked forward to getting and decorating the tree, watching the cartoon specials, the visits to and by relatives, and of course the presents. Once I grew up I really lost the whole Christmas spirit for a while. The thing that brought it back was having kids of my own and continuing the same traditions, as well as starting a few of our own. Once they've grown up I'll likely go back into Scrooge mode until the grandchildren snap me out of it again.
Chy: Two attempts to troll the post and no takers yet. You're losing your touch, my friend ;)
Troll?? he's serious! you didnt think that scar on jesus' head was from a fucking crown of thorns, did you?? some 6 year olds are quite dangerous with an edge weapon...
edged, dammit
Oh man, one time I also remembered coming downstairs and the Christmas tree, all fourteen feet of it, was lying on its side, ornaments smashed and broken to bits on the hardwood floor.
I was sure my parents had had a rockin' sick fight, but it turned out the tree had just fallen on its own.
Scary at first, but then everything was okay.
I remember that time I hit f8xy's mom with her own tree, right before I stole his best present.
Good times.
There was also the Nativity play where the lead shepherd was played by a kid from Texas, and pronounced "Bethlehem" "Bethle-ham." The teacher in charge kept picking on him and saying, "Ham? What, are you gonna eat dinner when you get there?"
MCT, your story reminded me of Blankets by Craig Thompson, although yours has a happier ending.
I remember this one time we found a tiny screech owl in our tree, so we blew bong hits at it until animal control took it away. I hope we can do that every year.
Medusa, I used to do the same thing only i don't wear glasses so I'd have to squint to get the lights to go all bzoingy.
We didn't have a mantel, so our stockings were stuffed with newspaper and masking-taped to the wall.
I know, I know . . oh how I've suffered . . *sigh*
I was riding with my 11-year-old on a Monday morning back in late October when, out of nowhere, he said, "Christmas is everything kids wait for."
I thought that was rather profound, so I asked him where he'd heard or read it before. He said nowhere, he had just thought of it himself at that moment, looking out the window.
I thought that was cool.
"It's (the White Witch) that makes it always winter. Always winter and never Christmas; think of that!"
-- "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe", chapter 2
stoogescrooge. Bah, humbug.