Revisiting Christmas memories and traditions — those held dear and those that slip away

The Christmas tree was cut down from the trees very near our front door, shaken free of snow and immediately erected in our tiny living room, fragrant and beautiful. (That was the tree. The living room smelled like Musterole.)

But there was a downside. If you grab a tree, and bring it right into the house, you do not necessarily dispel all of the wildlife that has taken shelter there. Spiders and mice, always, and one year a pretty good-sized skunk. Now that’s Christmas!

We decorated with a box of glass ornaments ordered from the Monkey Wards (Montgomery Ward) catalog and I supplemented with ornaments made from cardboard tablet backs and decorated with my trusty box of Crayolas.

Luckily the skunk left on his own.

Dorothy, age 4, casing the tree situation in Warland, Montana.
Dorothy, age 4, casing the tree situation in Warland, Montana.

On this day, with Christmas approaching, on the banks of the Kootenai River, I was 5 years old and had more important things on my mind. I pulled on my snow boots and made my way around the house looking doubtfully at the chimney. It didn’t take long. The tar paper railroad shack where we lived had no fireplace, and only a wood stove for cooking and heating. I figured that if Santa was planning to visit, he’d have to walk in the front door, or skip the whole thing. And he was a busy fellow.

I was very clear on how to contact Santa. I wrote him letters, throughout the year, confident that he could Interpret my misspelled words and pictures. According to plan, my mother burned the letters in the cookstove. We had no mail delivery, so this was the most efficient way to get the word to the right place. In fact, I believed that Santa employed an elf whose sole duty it was to read messages in smoke.

But here was the worry. What if my requests were answered in smoke and cinders? Instead of real toys. I had to keep this from happening.

On Christmas Eve, I hung one of my dad’s work socks, figuring it would hold way more than one of my little stockings.

When the stocking was filled, there was an apple in the toe and an orange in the heel. And candy that we longed for then that is still popular today: my own favorite M&M’s and Tootsie Rolls. And a doll with eyes that opened and closed. Huge sigh of relief.

My friend Gina writes from Michigan, “I so miss gathering at my grandparents’ home with all my aunts and uncles and cousins. Our traditions have changed mainly due to loved ones dying. Those left behind are charged with learning how to make the traditional meals, sweets, and breads. We are learning.

”One thing that we have as a way of holding tradition is a beautiful binder of recipes my aunt put together with stories to match. I cherish that book.”

Many of us have a harrowing story or two of the time the cherished family gathering turned dark. One memorable time at my grandmother’s house ended with everyone throwing mashed potatoes at each other.

Sometimes those family gatherings develop so many problems that it’s a temptation to stay away. I’ve heard more than one friend talk about skipping the family get together because the political discussion that Cousin Eddie is sure to start will make the evening miserable for everyone.

Professional mediator Jan Van Pelt suggests a way around this. Let people know before they walk in the door that this is a conflict-free zone. She suggests a basket on the front door that suggests, like the gunfighters of old, “Leave your insults here.” With pencil and paper, write down those thoughts and leave them behind. Van Pelt says it’s far easier to remind a guest “Now remember we’ve agreed to no politics today” if you’ve already set the boundaries.

Traditions have to change, I guess, and never more than this year. The creche that came from West Germany in 1953 has come with me to my new place. I don’t move the figures around any more. The wise men are just too old for all of that traveling.

And I have the painting of the blessed mother that came from my husband’s home in about 1915. His mother told us that affluent young couples had paintings commissioned for their first home — a religious painting if you practiced a specific faith, and a landscape if not. I have their painting of the Madonna with the baby Jesus.

A painting of the Madonna with the baby Jesus, from Dorothy’s husband’s home about 1915.
A painting of the Madonna with the baby Jesus, from Dorothy’s husband’s home about 1915.

When a tradition is lost It takes a long time to replace. I’ve found that a horror movie and a pizza is usually a good temporary filler until something better comes along. And it will.

My feeling is that we’ll manage. May your new traditions be full of joy, and your Christmas tree be free of skunks.

Where to find Dorothy in December

9 a.m. Monday, Dec. 2: Coffee, Chat and Change the World virtual variety show. For registration link, write Dorotohy@itsnevertoolate.com

Panorama Chorus concerts: 7 p.m. Friday, Dec. 6; 3 p.m. Saturday, Dec. 7, and 7 p.m. Monday, Dec. 9 in the Panorama Auditorium, 1670 Circle Loop SE, Lacey. The concert, “Panorama Sings: Within This Joy,” is led by director Troy Arnold Fisher.

Contact Dorothy at Dorothy@itsnevertoolate.com

Find her syndicated podcast, Swimming Upstream Radio Show, at itsnevertoolate.com, with a new show every Monday.