A couple of weeks ago, Lauren said books don’t count as presents. Trying to correct herself, she laughed and said books don’t count as presents from us as we pretty much live and breathe them. Like it’s easy to curate a good selection of books to give to everyone on our list.
It’s not. It’s kind of fun art form. You need to take into account several layers of books: 1) What has this person read? 2) What have they read and liked? 3) What have I given them? 4) What have I given them and they actually read? 5) What books have they spoken about?
Sometimes it’s just knowing that a book would be a good fit for someone.
I suppose it’s a given that the majority of our gifts are books. And that I put a lot of thought into what someone should be reading. Ryan helps.
Growing up, books weren’t necessarily sacred, but they were something close. Both my parents read regularly and read to us as well (some more than others, but I’m not bitter). We were never told we couldn’t read something; this is probably the reason why I was reading Roots at twelve. The only censorship-esque thing in our house was our inability to use the public library, and this was due to the fact that we could not return a book on time.
Books were purchased.
And they continue to be purchased. As gifts for others. (And sometimes for me; though I feel like I must be horrible to buy books for.)
But back to Christmas. Christmas was my mom’s favorite holiday. It’s my sister’s favorite as well. And when the two strongest women in your daily life value a day, it leaves a mark.
This evening at dinner, Ryan and I recounted our family traditions at the holiday. A little over a decade ago our family traditions changed for both of us. (His parents separated and ultimately divorced, causing a restructuring of the holidays.) As a child, Christmas Eve was a large party with friends and family that included a nativity play and a visit from Santa. Christmas Day was reserved for family; Meaghan would wake up earliest and go downstairs to look at the tree with all the gifts arrayed before it. Then she would wake up her siblings (me and Billy). We would sit and look at everything, but didn’t touch anything. Not even our stockings. After a bit, we would make coffee for our parents and then knock on their door. (It was instant coffee, and I think I was about six when I learned how my parents both took their coffee.) Coffee in hand, the parents would walk downstairs to the living room, and we would begin opening presents. Post-gifts, we would watch whatever movie we received, and mostly fall back asleep. Christmas Day dinner wasn’t a thing we did; we often spent it in the hospital cafeteria as Dad was likely working.
After Mom’s death, our traditions had to be restructured. It took a couple of years, but I think we have it down now. On Christmas Eve, we have dinner, play games, Santa visits, and we open gifts with Billy’s family. Christmas Day is reserved for Meaghan and I; we watch Love Actually and dinner is crab legs. Ryan has been in on this latest tradition for the last two years, while we skyped with his family in Tennessee.
From birth until 23, I was only away from my family for one year at Christmastime. I was living in Cork; when I went, Dad explained to me that I was going to stay. (This was especially hard as Mom was sick and no one knew what was wrong, and the boyfriend I was leaving in the States had surgery a day before I left.) A friend’s family took me in and I had one of the most memorable Christmases ever.
Ryan’s Christmases had been a midnight service on Christmas Eve, the opening of one gift, and then bed. In the morning, gift opening was organized and clean up was immediate. After his parents’ divorce, Christmas Eve was spent at his mother’s (see how clunky that is?) and early Christmas Day was spent with her as well. In the afternoon, the kids would go to Rick’s to celebrate with the family there. And I’ve been told that clean up is not so immediate anymore.
On Tuesday, we’re leaving for our first Christmas in Knoxville together. Last year, we agreed to flip-flop holidays between Colorado and Tennessee: Thanksgiving in one place, Christmas in the other, reversed the next year. This is our first Christmas in Tennessee; we’ve stayed in Colorado for the past two years. This is mostly because I work in retail, and Christmas has been a blackout period for time-off. This is also mostly because I’ve not missed a Christmas with my family since the nephew was born; in the years between Mom’s death and Ace’s birth, I saw at least one of my siblings; and for a couple of years, we even got together as a whole family with our father.
So. Tennessee. I admit while I’m excited not to Skype with the Knoxville fam, I’m upset that I won’t be in Colorado to watch Ace and Kewpie help Santa pass out gifts on Christmas Eve, or to watch Ryan dress up in the red suit after another discussion with Billy about why he should be the one doing it. Christmas in the last ten years has been a very small affair, and I’ve grown to love it. Christmas this year will not be small. Last year, we spent Thanksgiving in Knoxville; Rick’s house was packed. As someone who spent the first year of post-Mom Christmases curled up sleeping on a chair it the midst of family, this is going to be different.
But back to the books… There will be lots of them. We loaded up a cousin’s car for gifts to be driven to Knoxville as posting books can be expensive. I even took some out with us in October when we visited. And I’ll admit that we do have some non-book gifts out there. As a family, we bought my dad a goat via Oxfam for Christmas; he was sent the notice yesterday.
I think he liked it… 🙂
Stay tuned for details from the road. Or perhaps how I fight the breakdown of being away from my family. We’ll be gone for a week.