Christmases past and present
With so many things to juggle for Christmas, does anyone have time to breathe? A rhetorical question from a writer who has been almost totally preoccupied with taking care of major concerns which seems to have deflated her holiday spirit. I wonder: does that come with great-grand-motherhood?
When we were small we were redolent with the spirit, the Christmas tree that filled the home with the fragrance of Baguio pine; the gifts, especially the plastic balloon when I was 10 years old, under the Christmas tree festooned with big Christmas lights and breakable balls; the visit of the Three Kings when it was Jan. 6, when you put three pairs (not three thousand pairs) of shoes on your window sill and they would come not bringing gold, frankincense and myrrh, but simple gifts like an emerald green plastic eating set, chocolates and a red dog plastic flashlight whose eyes lit up. How I still remember the gifts I loved then 68 years later!
Then we stepped into our teens and the spirit took on a different shade. When I was 13 I remember being sent to the house of Alfonso Calalang, the father of Conrad, a close neighbor of ours, to bring a present for their family. I gave it to Lola Biñang, his wife, who thanked me but as I was leaving, Lolo Ponso, who was seated in an armchair almost under the stairs, called me and handed me a black tubelike thing with a gold top. “Merry Christmas,” he said. I thanked him.
They lived in the first house. We lived in the fourth. When I got home I showed it to my mother. “It’s Jicky by Guerlain,” she commented almost drily. “It’s a French perfume. Lolo Ponso must have noticed you are growing up.” And growing up I was. The following year it was a blue and black teddy bear from another neighbor. Then tears because the boys I had a crushes on didn’t give me gifts on Christmas.
From there, graduation into marriage and children. Making décor for the house that my husband didn’t seem to like. Shopping and wrapping gifts for husband, children, relatives, friends. Putting them under the Christmas tree I decorated myself. Years and years of that. There were years when I was fully aware of our budget and tried my best to fit the gifts. There were years when I had no budget and could spend whatever I wanted buying gifts for everyone and even hosting Christmas lunch for the whole extended family.
I remember my last Christmas of opulence. The family had hostilities on many sides. It was harrowing for me to host lunch, to figure out where who would sit. At the end of everything we ended up watching The Glenn Miller Story on TV. I hadn’t realized until then – I was already 33 years old – that Glenn Miller died in a plane crash on Christmas Eve. “If you were Glenn Miller,” I said jokingly, “I wouldn’t have to put up a Christmas lunch and all its problems.” He didn’t find that funny. It led to one big fight.
Then I was back to a small budget again. From a mansion in an elite neighborhood to a bungalow in Quazon City. The story of my life. One day up, the following day close to the bottom. That leveled out eventually when I became successful. Then life turned good again because I earned enough money for all our needs.
Even when I turned grandmother this activity continued, though over time it grew less and less as my children grew up and I got tired of roasting turkeys. My youngest daughter took over celebrating Christmas our way. We would always get together for Christmas Day lunch. Then after 41 years of being single again I decided to get married again.
At first we developed our Christmas rituals. Christmas Eve with his children. Christmas lunch with mine. But then my present husband had a stroke and that made Christmas almost like a regular day for us. But I seem to have had more spirit: even if it was last-minute, it still seemed to kick in, finally. I write this on Dec. 22. No spirit has kicked in yet. But I have faith. Maybe it will hit me on Dec. 24.
But anyway, Merry Christmas and a prosperous — I sincerely hope — New Year to all!
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