A Box of Socks

I am frequently amazed at how smart my dog Perkins is. She absolutely KNEW when it was Christmas morning this year. When we came downstairs, she bypassed the front door and ran straight to the Christmas tree, and then to her stocking, which was the ONLY one hanging over the fireplace. She didn’t remember this from last year, but from two years ago!

This is year number two of Christmas in widowhood. Last year, although the tree was up, we fled Christmas on a road trip and had no celebration at home. This year we stayed in town, but the only gifts under the tree were those wrapped to take to Richmond after breakfast. There was no wrapping paper to clean up, no laughing or singing, no “Happy Birthday Jesus Cake” that Cloyde always baked. And yet, Perkins knew, and she did get to enjoy the goodies from her stocking. It took her a full 24-hour period to extract the squeaky thingy from the new floppy beast. You never saw a happier dog!

My stocking had been taken to Richmond and my other children had my gifts drop-shipped to Erica’s house, so there was nothing here for me. I even forgot to make that “Special Coffee” that Cloyde always made on Christmas morning, coffee with cream, sugar, and Canadian Mist. Oh well. Times change.

Days before Christmas I celebrated the Winter Solstice, happy that the days were now officially getting longer, if not warmer. The eastern tidal region of Virginia is cold enough that I live in wool socks six months out of the year. Cold feet and cold hands make the whole body uncomfortable, but warm feet can make all the difference.

Which reminds me of Christmas wish lists!

Remember when you were younger and you would just die for a pogo stick, a special new doll, a bike, or a genuine catcher’s mitt? Except for that Christmas that I got a puppy, one of the neatest gifts I ever got was a Deluxe Dream Kitchen for my Ginny Dolls. (Mother would not allow me to have Barbie because she was “obscene.”) Oh my gosh, Patty and I had more wonderful dolls than anyone I’ve ever known! Add to that the collection of stuffed animals that the three of us collected over the years. Every Christmas Eve we brought them ALL out and sat them on the sofa to greet Santa Claus, as that was the one night of the year that they all came alive.

Yes, Christmas was magic and so were the gifts under the tree. “What do you want for Christmas, Barbara?” could elicit a four-page single-spaced list.

But now, “What do you want for Christmas, Mom?” is a hard question. Top of the list is always a maid or personal assistant to follow me around and pick up after me. Somehow, that one NEVER appears under the tree, or anywhere else. Neither does a new car. So, this year I mentioned that my microwave died around Thanksgiving and if they wanted to go in together to get a new one, that would be really nice. Other than that, I wanted some new non-itchy wool blend socks and a new flannel nightgown.

My attention was on what to give my grandchildren. I like to give handmade gifts because they are so personal. There is not an inch, not a micron of material that does not physically pass through my fingers when I knit or sew something. So, I committed to making cable-knit sweater vests for my Richmond grands. OMG! That took weeks of late nights trying to knit around Perkins who decided she was a lap dog. Hours of knitting in the contorted position that her presence created made for unending exhaustion and a sore, stiff back.

Why do I always do this to myself? Instead of decorating, hosting guests, enjoying the season, I am always stressed out by the time-sensitive burden I have taken on. I always think I have more time and more ME to complete these tasks and get on with enjoying the season. I never learn. Over the years I’ve knitted Christmas stockings, afghans, and shawls, sewn flannel nightgowns for everyone, including matching ones for the dolls. When the children were small, I made a dollhouse and painted it to match our big old Victorian house and I made the girls satin Christmas dresses for them and their dolls. One year I began a wool Aran knit sweater for Cloyde, but when he kept expanding, I gave up on finishing it, as it would never fit him. Instead, I knitted him a nightcap for his cold head with thinning hair. The half-done sweater is still on the needles. Perhaps I’ll finish it for someone else.

I mentioned to Shannon that I was going to be really ticked off if after all of this work those little girls did not WEAR these labors of love. Shannon said to remind them that Taylor Swift really rocks her sweater vests!

Well, I did not know this, and so decided to add that information when they opened up my gifts and tried them on. It seemed to work on Christmas Day. I hope it continues.

So, by my modified standards, this Christmas was pretty good. I didn’t have to cook or clean. I did get that microwave and the flannel nightgown, and oh yes, this old Goldilocks Fox rocks her box of socks!