By KAREN MADORIN
Thanksgiving’s turkey, dressing, casseroles, and pie are now leftovers, and I’ll soon traipse downstairs to decide what Christmas baubles make this year’s decorating cut. Thinking about the tree, boxes of ornaments and lights, as well as snowmen and Santas that create December’s festive mood triggered memories of pouring through the Christmas Catalogue. It would surprise our grandkids to learn I recollect the hours spent exploring that Sear’s Wish Book more than I remember actual gifts.
Our grands scope out the internet and TV to see what they want to add to their Christmas lists. While exciting, electronic devices can’t possibly offer the anticipation we felt racing to finish chores and homework so we could bury our noses in that magical book of dreams. It’s a good thing my family didn’t have an outhouse that required a catalogue to provide wiping paper because my brother and I wore our annual wish book’s pages thin. We spent the month before Christmas salivating over toy guns, Roy Rogers’ accessories, GI Joes, Barbies, Chatty Cathys, Easy Bake ovens, and art supply boxes.
Our fingers wore trails down pages filled with our desires. We looked so often that the catalogue fell open to our favorites. If Santa doubted what to deliver on Christmas Eve, the catalogue cleared up any confusion.
Simpler Christmases reigned in the 50s and 60s. First of all, whether in a store or catalogue, fewer choices existed to confuse us. Our TVs got one or two channels with advertisements to reveal the possibilities. Those turned off at midnight and didn’t restart til 8 the next morning. Our parents had no credit cards so they bought one toy that Santa delivered.
My family’s Christmas Eve custom required a drive around town to oooh and ahhh over other people’s lights and periodically open a window to listen for Santa’s sleigh bells. My dad always required an emergency bathroom run right after we loaded the car so waiting for his return offered time to imagine hearing tinkling bells. We loved that dark drive filled with twinkling lights, but because of Dad’s long potty stop, we knew we’d missed catching Santa. Sure enough, we did every single year. We’d creep into the house to see he’d delivered our gifts and sampled cookies and milk left for him.
After that sensational build up, we opened our packages. Usually, I got a doll and my brother a cap pistol or rifle. Afterwards, we dug a brown paper bag filled with the prettiest hard Christmas candies, candy orange slices, an apple, and a handful of peanuts from our stockings. We gave our dad our peanuts, and we gobbled the candy. To this day, I love old-fashion Christmas sweets.
A big present showed up the years we each turned eight. For Christmas during third grade, Santa delivered a new bike. I learned as an adult this meant dad had sold a gun so he could buy those shiny Schwinns.
I’ve seen pictures of living rooms stacked with so many presents for each family member that gift opening takes hours. Looking back, I’m glad our drive around town looking at other families’ lights and listening for sleigh bells occupied our time. Recollecting the anticipation as we wore out the Wish Book and tried to catch Santa delivering that simple gift leaves me nostalgic for that time when less was more.
Karen is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan. After a time away, she’s glad to be home.