The holidays are looking a bit grim this year, thanks in part to political Grinches, budgetary Scrooges, and lobbyist wise guys. I wonder if there will be a Nativity scene at the White House this year, considering that no one can find three wise men and a virgin in Washington, D.C. If an epiphany isn’t reached by Congress soon, we’ll all fall off a fiscal cliff by Jan. 6!
Recently I was visited by three spirits, who gave me a fresh insight into my own holiday traditions of what has been, is now, and what may be as I go through life.
The first spirit looked just like my grandmother, Lula Presta. A tough lady, she weathered the loss of children, her home by fire, and grandsons to war. She survived the Depression and recessions with staunch thrift that could produce miracles out of pennies. She was often bent by sorrows, but her joyful spirit always remained unbroken.
I remember how her brown eyes sparkled, much like my mother’s and my own, as she baked cookies, pies, and the best cream puffs ever! During the holidays, Grandma’s house smelled of cinnamon and spruce, with a real tree in the living room, presents piled high beneath its boughs. It was lit with those old-fashioned bubble lights and glimmered with ornaments. Tinsel was lovingly placed on the tips of branches from the top halfway down where it took on a Jackson Pollack appearance, having been thrown on by the tiny hands of her grandchildren. She always said our half looked prettier.
My favorite thing was the tiny village of cardboard houses with colored gel windows and roofs sprinkled with mica chips to look like snow. There was even a little church with steps, a steeple, and “snowy” shrubberies at the front and sides. I used to fantasize about the people living in these tiny houses and what they did on Christmas day. These were lit with colorful bulbs and set atop a fluffy cloud of white angel hair. This stuff was very popular through the 1950s and ’60s. Made of finely spun glass (fiberglass), it refracted light and seemed to glow. Deceptively silky soft, it made your skin very itchy and could even cause super thin cuts. I remember that Grandma never let us grandkids touch it. It sure looked pretty, though.
But hark! The spirit of Christmas present is here and it looks just like Donna Corea, my mother. I know when the holidays have arrived when Mom’s Christmas card hits our mailbox. She always gets them out early. November early. Right after Thanksgiving early. I think she spends Labor Day writing and addressing them.
Mom has carried on her mother’s traditions and added a couple of her own. One was Christmas morning cinnamon rolls—the best I have ever tasted. She would start them the day before, making the dough, allowing it to rise twice, then rolling it out, coating it with melted butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, and nuts, and rolling and slicing it into pinwheels of perfection. She’d leave these to rise to thrice their size before baking them and drizzling them with a vanilla sugar glaze. We’d follow her around like starved dogs, hoping for a morsel. We could care less about behaving for Santa Claus. We knew better—be good or no cinnamon rolls for you on Christmas morning!
Mom loves to decorate her home for the holidays, and I mean all of them! Hearts on throw pillows in February; green hand towels in March; baskets of eggs, chicks, and bunnies at Easter; red, white, and blue flowers in July. The scarecrows are on the lawn come September, Jack-o-lanterns and ghosts haunt the front door in October, and turkey centerpieces and cornucopia adorn every room in November. But on the day before Thanksgiving, she pulls out all the stops!
Up goes the tree, lights, miniature village, stockings, evergreen garlands, holly, red chair and sofa covers, and Santa throw pillows. When Mom decorates for Christmas, her halls are decked! The first time my Jewish husband and grandson, the Brit and Britween, visited her for the holidays, I think they thought we were on a movie set. But bless Mom’s heart, she remembered to set out a menorah and a bowl of chocolate Hanukkah gelt (coins) for them. Of course, these two will eat chocolate anything and happily scarfed down her Christmas fudge, as well.
Wait, what is that before my eyes? A jingle of bells, a spinning dreidel, and a distinguished, bearded gentleman wearing a fur-trimmed red suit and yarmulke. It’s the spirit of holidays to come and his name is Hanuklaus!
My life has changed over the years, and now my December is filled with both holidays, Jewish and Christian. I preserve and remember my Grandma’s traditions, and even have her little cardboard village that I put up and light on a fluffy cloud of glittery cotton batting. I delight as my grandson stares at the houses, imagining the people in them celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas.
A small Nativity crèche, one I made of clay and glazed when I was 17, adorns the mantle. I can scarely believe that it is now more than 40 years old.
I make Mom’s Christmas fudge and deck the halls with lights, evergreen, and ornaments. I hang stockings on the mantle with care. A silvery aluminum tree, circa 1962, that Mom found at a yard sale for me, is filled with silver pears, a partridge, French hens, calling birds, and geese—my own fond tradition—under which I quietly place a wrapped gift every day or so to keep the Brit and Britween on their toes.
There are also small gifts placed on the table around the menorah, each wrapped in blue, white, and silver paper. Chocolate Hanukkah gelt fills a bowl and is replenished as needed, which is often! I delight in watching my husband poke and shake each gift with his name on the tag like a grown-up version of our grandson, who aids and abets him in this pastime.
Charles Dickens’ character Ebenezer Scrooge experienced an important epiphany after he was visited by three Christmas spirits and immediately changed his ways. The three spirits who visited me have made me realize something just as important—that I wouldn’t change a single thing! Happy Hanukkah and Merry Christmas to you all!
Ariel Waterman also loves chocolate anything. Send Hanukkah gelt and Christmas fudge via her editor, Ryan Miller, at rmiller@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Dec 13-20, 2012.