The Christmas Clues
Before Michael and I got married, we would occasionally check out the packages we had given each other. I always wanted to be surprised, so I didn’t exert much effort in the shaking. One time, Michael took a turn at a package, and it began playing music. Oops! He commented rather lamely, “Well, you still don’t know what kind of music box it is.” He was right; it was an owl with an owlet circling around on the base.
One year, we decided to give each other clues, a tradition we carried on for a long time. I very badly wanted a Blazie Engineering Braille Blazer home embosser. Michael’s clue was “hungry farm implement.” I never guessed the “tractor-feed” Braille Blazer! I’m not sure my clues were ever quite that creative.
— Ann Byington
Christmas Memories
My earliest recollections of Christmas are happy ones. I can remember various sizes and varieties of Christmas trees, both alive and artificial. It did not matter because the feelings of love and joy mingled in the air all the way from Thanksgiving until after January 2nd.
When I was younger, the reason January 2nd always signaled the end of the Christmas season was because that was my father's birthday. We always had a family celebration on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and my father's birthday.
We always gave gifts to one another on birthdays and Christmas. We tried to get each person exactly what he/she wanted most. Later, we drew names. Now, since we all have children and grandchildren, we just do grab bag gifts with games.
When particular gifts weren’t affordable, we would give them something to remind them of it. For example, my father loved cars. He was a mechanic and particularly liked GM products. One year for Christmas, we gave him a new car. We knew he had never owned a new car. Of course, it was a Matchbox car. Everyone got a laugh from dad’s reaction.
We would often play practical jokes with gifts. Wrapping a really large box that was quite heavy was fun. For us that meant finding some particularly large rocks and putting them inside. Other times we would tape a small empty box, wrap it, put it in another box, tape it very well, wrap it, put it in another box, tape it well, wrap it, etc. until we thought there was a sufficient number to keep the excitement building.
When I first lost my sight, I would often accidentally put my fingers in the butter dish when clearing the table. My brother was six at the time, and he gave me one gag gift I will always remember. I opened the box and inside was a plastic dish. At Christmas time, people use all kinds of containers to wrap things, so I opened the lid and put my hand inside. Oops! My hand found butter. He laughed hysterically and so did the rest of us.
I also am in the habit of bringing small or inexpensive gifts that I have picked up at flea markets, garage sales, or sales. We try different ways to give these away each year. Sometimes, we have an alarm clock go off different times and whoever is talking at the time gets the gift. Other times, we have put stickers or tape under dishes, chairs, etc. to give them away. We have also played cards and given gifts after each hand. If all else fails, we can give out numbers if we have too many to give out in one of the other ways.
I find that the preparation before the day comes is as much fun as the day itself. Trying to conjure up the right mix of gifts is challenging, since we have a large extended family.
— Ardis Bazyn
The Christmas Pickle and Other Nostalgic Oddities
The gift-giving season started in August. Leaves had barely touched upon the earth and, like magic, pumpkin spiced lattes, muffins and doughnuts appeared. I am tempted to wear my white capris once more and defy tradition to store them until the first day of summer in 2025. It’s too darned early.
Speaking of traditions, I spent 20 years in the retail business. The most interesting position I held was in an acrylic furniture and design factory called Plasticworks. Our stock items and custom designed inventory could be described as quirky, minimalist and artistic.
The most popular gift items were the clear toilet seats. We could suspend anything in liquid and bake it in, producing a stylish focal point to one’s bathroom. The most popular of the choices was the seat and lid embedded with barbed wire and razor blades. Another favorite was a lid and seat embedded with shredded money. The customer had to supply $100 of mixed denominations, including coins. And the third favorite was the seat with seashells, driftwood and sand.
I mention the quirky toilet seats because I love to discover the unique traditions of other families. Our quirky thing is the Christmas pickle. My sister introduced it to me for our first Christmas after getting married. She explained it was a tradition she embraced from her husband’s side of the family. The pickle is hidden in the highest branches of the tree. The youngest person to point it out gets a candy cane. Better than the creepy Elf on the Shelf idea.
Wishing you and your loved ones a wonderful holiday season. May it be full of pumpkin lattes and peppermint.
— Annie Chiappetta
Shattered Christmas
The worst Christmas for me was 2005. I had received several gifts from out-of-town friends and family, and was looking forward to opening them. I was most curious about a braille paper-sized box that came from friends in another state. So on Christmas morning, when I opened the gifts, I was looking forward to seeing what was in that box. I opened a few smaller gifts first. When I opened the big box, my excitement turned to shock – and pain. The pretty glass plates and dishes had gotten shattered somewhere along the way to my place, and I pulled out a handful of glass shards instead. I ran for the kitchen, where I had a small first aid kit handy. After plucking out the pieces that had gotten stuck in my hand, then cleaning and bandaging the wounds, I returned to the living room and proceeded a little more slowly in opening the remaining gifts. I found a couple of gifts that were intact, and a number of others that were not. When I finished opening the gifts in my living room, I walked down the street to my parents’ house to open gifts with my family. Sadly, several of the gifts I opened there had gotten damaged in shipping, too. The only gifts that were in good shape were the ones from my parents and my sister. Those thank-you notes were the hardest ones I’ve ever had to write.
— Sharon Lovering