Slippers and Stuff

I love my purple slippers. They are the best slippers I’ve ever owned, even now that they are three years old. They are purple suede slip-ons lined with fleece. They have soles thick enough that I can carry out the trash across the gravel driveway without bruising or soaking my tender feet in snow melt. I love them because they comfortably serve my purposes, because they are royal purple, and because Cloyde gave them to me at his last Christmas.

I love my red plaid L.L. Bean nightgown, which now has holes and other soft spots in it, as well as fraying around the edges. I love it because it is loose and flowing and reaches all the way down to my purple slippers. I love it because it is flannel and has pockets, and when I take it out of the hot dryer and put it on, it immediately envelopes me in warmth. I love it because Cloyde gave it to me.

Each year, some time around Thanksgiving, Cloyde would drop a dog-eared L.L. Bean catalog on my desk with every item circled that he would like to have. He told me to mark whatever I wanted and scolded me not to take too long because the colors and sizes I wanted might be sold out before the order was placed.

The Bean catalog simplified our Christmas shopping for each other. It was like the old Sears Christmas Wish-Book from our childhood. You could mark everything you wanted, although you might end up receiving only one or two of your selections.

My children always ask me what I want for Christmas. Nearly every year, I respond, “A maid.” They never get me one. I don’t think they take me seriously.

So, we all make Amazon Prime wish lists with DVDs, books, puzzles, and the like. Then, we can have them drop-shipped to each other and avoid a lot of the wrapping and mailing hassles.

I feel for my children because I remember how shopping for my parents, especially Mother, used to be a nightmare. I’d ask her what she wanted and she would tell me what she didn’t want (which included just about everything I could afford). “Don’t send me flowers; I’m allergic. Don’t get me any more dust-collectors.”

Their house was fully decorated with museum quality objects d’art, none of which I could afford to match. It was a safe bet they already owned every book ever published. Puzzles were out of the question because every flat surface in the house large enough to work one was already covered with piles of who knows what. I couldn’t guess what size clothing they wore and I’d already knitted them sweaters and afghans that went unused.

One year I thought I’d found the perfect Christmas gift in an antique shop. It was a beautiful alabaster vase with some sort of filigreed footing. It cost me about twice what I’d budgeted, but I felt it was something worthy that they’d appreciate. Come Christmas morning, I called them. After talking for about a half hour without them mentioning it, I asked them what they thought of the gift I’d mailed them.

“Oh, thanks for the phone,” Mother said, nonchalantly.

“Mother, open the box!” I insisted. “That’s just a box I had that fit it for mailing. I didn’t send you a phone!” Typical of Mother…. I’m sorry to say that the spring when she died, although I was certainly sad to lose my mother, my second thought was, “At least I won’t have to struggle to buy her a Mother’s Day gift! Sad.

But the truth is unless you’ve suffered some horrible tragedy like a house fire or devastating bankruptcy, by the time you’re a grandparent several times over, for any new thing you bring into your home, one or two other things must be (or should be) shifted out. You likely have just about everything you need, or have room for. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind shifting out my 2003 Buick Century for a newer model.

Don’t ask me what I want for Christmas. Ask me what’s broken and needs to be repaired or replaced. Or just show up at my house with a super-duper bladed weed-wacker, a chainsaw, a power washer, a set of tools, a Lowe’s gift card, and some time to help me with my projects!

Other than that, soft warm, non-binding clothes (with pockets) are good, and DVDs of classic movies like “Damn Yankees” and “Dr. Zhivago” or “Billy Budd!” But what I really need is a maid – and a yard man – and an electrician – and a mechanic – and a carpenter…. I need help!