Sunday, December 7, 2008

A Whole Lot of Tra-la-la!

I've discovered the secret of life: a lot of hard work, a lot of sense of humor, a lot of joy, and a whole lot of tra-la-la! .....................Kay Thompson

What is it we long for during the winter holidays that makes us so sad and sentimental? Our childhood, I suppose. Though I don't know too many folks who'd spend one of three magical wishes to go back to their own kid-dom. When I was a kid, I longed for a story book childhood. I kept giving mine another chance, but felt cheated when it was over. So when I had my children, I made every attempt to create the childhood for them that I longed for and never had. I almost succeeded. The local kids tormented mine, and mine terrorized each other. (I knew about the former while it was happening, and interceded as I was able. I didn't learn about the latter until they had grown up. I wish they'd ratted on each other!) And although my marriage didn't last, I truly dedicated myself to giving my kids a world they could long to revisit again when they'd grown up. When I long for childhood at Christmas, I long for theirs.

For some reason that challenges the reasonable, my mom insisted on giving us Christmas morning even though we were Jewish. She said that her grandmother (who raised her) gave her Christmas morning so she wouldn't envy the non-Jewish children. So we'd march down the stairs to discover Santa's gifts every December twenty-fifth; and --reinforcing the paradox -- the gifts would be decorated in Chanukah paper. To distract himself, my dad would make films of the event; my brother Matt and I turned the movies into a video years later. Awfully boring -- really! Years and years of Christmas morning ritual. The only interesting thing about the movies, is seeing oneself change from year to year.

My first Christmas with Don, my husband, was out of a Victorian novel. We were married the previous March; I was expecting our first child. We had a hand-me-down dinette set, a wedding gift bedroom set, and whatever props Don could shlep home from the Pittsburgh Playhouse where we both worked. (when the prop furniture or drapes were needed for a show, a crew would show up and empty my apartment.) That Christmas eve we had no prop furniture. Several productions at the Playhouse took it all away. Don went out rather late in the evening to find a Christmas tree. We had no money. I don't really know how he expected to get a tree. But he came back with a sweet little tree (Charlie Brown would have been proud!) that a vender nearby had held out to him and said, "If you catch it, it's yours." He did, and it was. We were up most of the night turning popcorn into chains for the tree. At around 11:00pm, the door bell rang; it was either the postal service or UPS bringing a gift from my younger brother. (delivering gifts into the night doesn't happen any more!) We opened our gifts once the tree had enough popcorn to smell like a movie theatre. My brother Len had sent us chocolates and a bottle of brandy. We made short work of all of it. That was my first Christmas tree. And Don talked a lot that evening about the history of the yule tree and it's pagan roots and the countries that claim having created it.

We had wonderful Christmases with our children. We took Alex to Brooklyn to spend Christmas with my mom when Alex was perhaps turning 3 years old. Don didn't want to go; he liked having Christmas at home. My mom wanted us there and actually went out and bought an artificial tree and some decorations so Don would have his Christmas. On Christmas eve, while we decorated the tree, my mom sat in the kitchen and sulked. She felt uncomfortable having the tree in her home. (who asked her to????) She said something like, we don't celebrate Christmas! I generously did not remind her about all those years of the Jewish Santa! Anyway, we did up the tree, and in the morning little Alex had plenty of Santa gifts. We were about to gather for breakfast when my younger brother -- who had stepped outside for something -- came running in to tell us that our Zaidie, my late-father's orthodox Jewish father, was strolling up our street. Arriving unannounced! My mother went very pale. Don and Lenny picked up the tree, gifts and all, in a sheet and ran the whole alarming festivity into the basement -- clearing all away just as my mom opened the door for Zaidie. Lenny, Don and I were laughing so hard and my mom -- suddenly seeing the humor of it all -- began to laugh as well. Poor Zaidie thought he was among mad people.

The Christmases in our Corning Street house in Beverly were the best. We always gave the kids books of some kind; clothes that they needed (Don would wrap each sock of each pair separately so they'd have hours of opening to do!) We really couldn't afford to buy a "big gift." So we'd make gifts for the kids. Don being an artist made remarkable things. Of course we'd be up all night Christmas eve finishing the creations. We'd all decorate the tree together (a really beautiful artificial tree we named Irving; artificial to accommodate Jamie's asthma and my "green" instincts.) After we'd finally finish the gifts and the wrapping and crawl up to bed in the wee hours, I'd hear Don going back down to the living room -- every year he'd have to "fix the tree!" The efforts of we poor amateurs offended his artistic sensibilities.

The year that Don and I separated, Alex was so angry he wouldn't help us with the tree. Jamie, Clea and I put it together, and it came out perfectly up-side-down. Alex didn't want us to see him laugh, so kicked us out of the living room while he went in to redo Irving. When I moved to New Jersey I left Irving behind and decided that there was no reason for me to have a tree. No kids around. In fact, I divided the decorations among my three children. However, Jamie bought me a smaller but equally attractive tree, insisting that I needed to continue my pagan traditions. Ha! I suppose my dad would have called them heathen traditions. No matter. Irving the 2nd lives. Celebrating all holidays has become part of my world. It is, after all, celebrating all people and all of life.

This year there will be a glorious Eloise doll under Irving 2nd for glorious Keira, along with several books about Eloise by the brilliant Kay Thompson. Jamie will be here this weekend for an early celebration before returning to Iowa (oy!) with the Spamalot! tour. Next week I hope some folks will stop by for mulled wine and latkes to celebrate the Solstice, Chanukah, Yule, and the childhood we carry with us all through our lives.

Happy holidays to you, and abundant thanks for the gift of listening!