Gifts From The Heart

Practically everyone I know goes into a shopping frenzy this time of year. I hate it.

Having grown up in a household where Christmas was celebrated as a truly holy day, it bothers me to see that too many people today rush to give their children expensive gifts but don't have time to tell them what Christmas really means. Too many make time to shop till they drop but, somehow, can't find time to attend one single church service or read the real Christmas story from the Bible........if they have a Bible. The closest that many children ever come is hearing it from the TV show, "A Charlie Brown Christmas."

Fueled by the incessant ads on TV, Christmas has become a time for retailers to milk as much money as possible from a public that willingly goes along. And, although I resist it, I must admit that I fall into the same trap all too often. I hate it.

I was recently reminded of one of the most meaningful gifts I've ever received. This gift has sat in my closet every spring and summer for at least forty years. It comes to light every fall when my wardrobe turns from light pastel colors to darker greens and browns.

Pictured above is a handbag that my sister-in-law, Vicky, made for me all those years ago. She will be surprised to learn that I still use and treasure it. Lovingly pieced from little scraps of leather, planned so that everything fits perfectly inside and with an outside pocket to hold things like grocery lists and a list of books I want to read, it was the perfect gift – handmade with love. It was a gift from the heart; one that typifies what the holiday season should mean to all of us.

I long for the time when Christmas meant memorizing scriptures, poems and special songs for the Christmas program at church and Christmas dinner with parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I long for the time when Christmas meant one or two gifts from the heart, lovingly handmade, or maybe a book. I long for the time when Christmas meant something more than shopping and decorating.

Last night I saw TV images of people sleeping all night in the cold so they could be first in line to buy Christmas gifts at the perceived lowest prices of the season. I wonder how many of them would sleep all night in the cold to get in the door of a church on Christmas day? How many will explain to their children what Christmas is all about? Not many. I hate it.

Over The River and Through The Woods

"Over the river and through the woods, To Grandmother's house we go. The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh, Over the white drifted snow."

A couple of my friends were discussing their Thanksgiving plans a few weeks ago and, when asked, I replied that at least I wouldn't have to shoot Thanksgiving dinner this year. You can imagine the astonished looks and laughter that followed but I wasn't kidding.

Thanksgiving day in West Virginia meant that a couple of my aunts and uncles arrived either the night before or about daylight with their .22 caliber rifles. Along with my dad and grandpa, they set out to hunt Thanksgiving dinner. It was usually a cold, foggy, drizzly day – perfect for hunting. If they were lucky, they came home with several rabbits and squirrels. Deer and wild turkeys were not plentiful in that place at that time.

Meanwhile, Mom and Grandma killed, plucked, and otherwise prepared a couple of chickens to go along with the wild game. The meal was filled out with vegetables they had canned during the summer and a couple of pies made from canned apples, blackberries, or peaches. Turkey? Nope. Cranberries? Nope. Stuffing? Nope. Pumpkin pie? Nope. Think turnips, carrots, beets, green beans, and mashed potatoes. We ate what we grew.

Today, I can't imagine eating a squirrel. I do have to admit that I loved it at the time. In fact, I preferred it to rabbit. We did not think it odd to see carefully cleaned squirrel heads resting on a platter. My brothers and I argued about who got to claim them if there weren't enough to go around. We thought there was something very special about squirrel brains.

This year, we will have the usual turkey and dressing at our house along with three kinds of cranberry sauce because everyone has their own personal preference. I'm now the grandmother so Scott and Greg will come to our house but there will be no snow. After all, we live in Georgia. Our friends, Brenda and Tom Flood, will be our guests but they aren't expected to hunt meat for dinner. They will, however, come over the river (the Chattahoochee) while Scott and Greg will drive 2 ½ miles through well-groomed subdivisions. There are no woods left near Atlanta, Georgia.

Although times have changed, I have many things to be thankful for. Among them is the fact that I don't have to hunt for my dinner or kill and pluck a chicken.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends and family!

P.S. Above is a picture of my little brother, Johnny, learning how to skin a squirrel at age two. Or was it a rabbit?

Blogs Bring Wonderful Surprises

When I discovered blogging a few months ago I never dreamed what rewards would come my way.

For instance, one of my recent blogs was about Grandma and all the things she taught me. Within a week, I received a phone call from a first cousin who lives in South Carolina. Within a few more days, I received a package filled with quilt blocks Grandma appliquéd for a quilt she was planning to make in 1953. As it turned out, Grandma wasn't able to finish the quilt. There are two blocks remaining. One is half finished and contains the needle and thread Grandma placed there fifty-five years ago. The blocks (pictured above) contain fabric from summer dresses I remember from my childhood – my mother's, my Grandma's, my aunts', and mine. I am now facing the challenge of making the very first quilt I have ever attempted.

Another amazing connection happened a week or so prior to that. I received an e-mail that said, "My brother stumbled across your blog and the poem our dad wrote about his grandpa." It was from a cousin I've never met and whose name I never knew. I lost this particular branch of the family when I moved to Columbus, Ohio, at age seventeen and my cousin married and moved to Cincinnati at about the same time. Our visits back to W.Va. never coincided. Although my cousin has passed away, his daughter and I now trade family stories and pictures that are precious to both of us. Her brother searched the internet for his dad's name on a whim one day and my blog came up, along with the first line of his poem about Grandpa. Who would ever imagine that?

In addition to the above, a nephew I love very much but hadn't heard from for a long time has begun e-mailing me, I was invited to judge Parkview High School's annual Reflections art contest (which I did), and I've sold my painting, "Firefly Evening." None of these things would have happened without my blog.

Carl says my blog must be going all over the world by now. I think, perhaps, he is correct. I can hardly wait for the next surprise.