It's the first night of Hanukkah, and I'm hopeful for light in the world this December. Fuzzy is reading stories of the fools of Chelm to Kiddo, while the candles burn. We celebrate both Hanukkah and Christmas here, and the girls seem to enjoy both. My mother is quite pleased when Hanukkah coincides with her visit, and often watches for books and toys for Hanukkah on her endless hunt for interesting Christmas goodies.
My mother and a good portion of her family are big Christmas fans. They love the decorations and the songs and all of it. I tend to do accents within the house decor for the season, as I am overwhelmed enough to not notice a marooned Virgin Mary or elf until August. In fact, when Fuzzy put up the tree the other day, there were still a couple disco balls attached to it. I'm most likely a bit of a family failure on this front. I'm related to people who have full dish sets decorated with holly, tea kettles shaped like Santa, festive hand towels and soap, and holiday-themed clothing to last from Thanksgiving to New Year's with few repeats. A whole corner of their basements are dedicated to all the many organized tubs of ornaments, stuffed animals, housewares, outdoor decor, shelf sitters, and assorted tchotchkes. I have one tub and a fake tree.
By the time we get to Christmas most years, I've had eleven Christmas Eves at Dickens Fair, and have been doing holiday preparations of some sort since October. When I worked for the amusement park, we started preparations for the holiday festivities while doing zombie laundry for the Halloween event, and after November 1, we were greeted by the same twenty non-secular songs every time we ventured out of the shop. We outfitted animal trainers as elves, and worked on carolers, two looks for Santa (traditional and "on vacation," for the week after Christmas), snowmen, and a variety of other special folks. Long story short, we do a streamlined Christmas, with a festive red tablecloth and a table runner I found at the thrift store about a decade ago. Sometimes, I remember I own festive kitchen towels early enough to fish them out around December 20, and all two of my seasonal trays make their annual appearance covered with snacks of some sort. This year, I might even get out the patterns and make a gingerbread house or two. Mom will be so proud. As long as I'm making gingerbread, we might make some ninjabread men for Fuzzy's family.
Did you know that there is an organization dedicated to celebrating Christmas all year long, culminating in a national conference in July, complete with theme dinners and visits from Santa? I know. Don't bother asking me how I know, because I think you can guess. It's magical and wonderful and touching. I marvel at their dedication. They equally marvel at the events I attend several times a year that teach me how to properly fit corsets in the style of 1875, the secrets of bound buttonholes, and how to prep ostrich feathers for effective hat decor for Germans in the Renaissance. Everybody's got their thing.
My mother and aunt have been cleaning out my other aunt's possessions for the past few years following her passing. She was an extraordinarily committed collector of many things, including Christmas and Halloween stuff. Every time we go for a visit, we are invited to go through some more bins of a cavalcade of interesting things. It's fascinating, and a bit like a museum of American culture.
It makes me wonder what people will think of what I leave behind. Every historical sewing enthusiast I know has a couple friends who are sworn to help the family after they go. Fuzzy cannot be expected to recognize which books should be offered to the local costume community instead of the thrift store, and he would definitely be lost facing the fabric and trim stashes. My sworn friends are there to know the difference between the nylon stuff for the Halloween costumes and the antique stuff that is meant for only the very best reproductions. They will also recognize what belongs to clients. Conveniently, my aunt was very fond of research, so most of the pieces are carefully identified and labelled, and a vast majority of the bins were also exhaustively labelled. For a long time, I encouraged my mother to let me know when they finally located the bin labelled "Mid-Century Teamster, Used Condition," or the one labelled "Roman-Era Chalice, Near-Mint Condition." She's still holding out on me.
Perhaps we all are the fools of Chelm, running around after silly things that bring us joy. I hope we can recognize ourselves and make magic for each other.
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