It feels like a cliché to say Christmas was simpler when I was a kid in the 1960s, but it really was.  My family put up a single string of lights along the eaves, maybe another above the garage. One Christmas, my mom put up a string of green lights on the front of the house in the shape of a triangle, voila – A tree! – I was amazed, my mom was always so creative, and I was the age that every little thing she did impressed me. There were the years when the lights were all blue, and another when they were red and green. This was possible because those old light strands from the sixties were made of the real stuff. And the bulbs were sturdy too! You could buy boxes of colored bulbs and simply replace the burned-out ones, or you could unscrew the red ones and replace them with blue ones. None of that ‘one burns out and the whole strand goes dead business’.

There were fewer presents then, too. In fact, besides skis, I don’t remember wanting or receiving many significant gifts. I got a down coat I had really wanted from Gary Kings, and there was a random gift one year from a boy who liked me. A curling iron of all things. And whether he had stolen it (God, aren’t teenagers the worst?) or maybe he thought I would look better if my stick straight hair was curly? I am not sure, but he showed up at my door with the wrapped present, handed it to me, then turned and left. (God, aren’t teenagers awkward?). When I opened the gift Christmas morning, my dad, who could also be the worst, teased me endlessly about it. I put that curling iron in a drawer, returned to school after Christmas break, and never said a word to the boy… and never once curled my hair.

In my memory, we didnt decorate the house – just the tree. That tree. A single extravagance – a tinsel-covered explosion of colored lights dominating our living room. There was an art to decorating with tinsel. You unwrapped the tinsel, saved the year prior in newspaper. Once the tree was fully lit and decorated the final touch was the fling of that tinsel. Tinsil in those days had heft.

I believe we only had ONE box of Christmas decorations. In that box were the same old mismatched ornaments and decorations that we greeted like old friends when my mom pulled them out. A family favorite were the matching Christmas mugs with Santa’s cheery face and mischievous wink, perfect for enjoying eggnog alongside a cookie.  Eggnog that my mother would “cut” with milk. To this day that is the only way I can drink it, milk with a splash of ‘nog. Our stockings were handmade of felt by my grandma Finch,  simple and small. They humbly held a tangerine, a quarter, and a small chocolate.

Years later, Scott and I, by comparison took a grander approach to the holiday season.  Unlike my mom’s simple strands of lights, we have Christmas Light wars with our neighbors- losing by a long shot, they up their game every year. It is more of a ‘Who is going to start first, and who is going to leave thiers up the longest” type of war.

As far as gifts go, our kids didn’t necessarily get spoiled, but let’s just say, they had pretty specific wish lists, complete with turned-down pages of a Delia’s catalog.  Over the years I have heard, and wanted to embrace the saying: Get them something they want/something they need/something to wear/something to read. But I cannot reign in my husband, his Christmas tradition is overflowing stockings with TONS of gifts. If I am being truthful, I am as bad as he is…. if I see something “perfect” I buy it. And I LOVE buying presents. Usually sometime two week or so from the big day, we count up presents and “even them out.”

A significant difference, between those 1960’s simple Christmases and the ones when our girls were little though, was that we had an entire closet dedicated to our holiday decorations. (Full disclosure, they weren’t all Christmas decorations; in fact, there were two “fall boxes” and an Easter/spring box). A bulk of those were dedicated to “The Christmas Village.” A collection that began one year ago when Laura won a $50.00 gift certificate to Tongass Trading Company. We took her down to select whatever she wanted, and what she wanted was a ceramic, light up church in a Christmas Village. That was the first one, then we bought one or two more per year during post Christmas sales and soon we had quite a few! And all the little accouterments. The girls named all the little Victorian people. The man with a pipe and a newspaper… Grandad. The woman with a rolling pin and apron, Gramma Nancy. Skater number one: Gracie, Skater number two: Laura, the red haired one hanging a wreath? You guessed it Sarah. Scott was waxing a pair of skis and for the life of me, I cannot remember which one was me.

This collection grew and grew. One year, after the girls had moved out, I asked them to pick which houses they wanted. They all stared at me incrediously. No one wanted ANY of them. Not even the log cabin, none of it. I picked three or four for future grandkids and the specialist of the special figures and gave away the rest to a woman I worked with who was in the coast guard. The family had lived overseas and when thier boxes were being sent backs stateside, many of those boxes were washed off the ship, including all Christmas decor. I gave her our village and long after they had been stationed elsewhere she would send me pictures of her kids playing with it at Chrismas. And, yes. My grandkids play with the ones we kept, and it is sort of magical.

With those houses gone, the bulk was reduced a bit, but there were still “the santas.” I remember during a Christmas Open House maybe fifteen years ago,  my Santa Collection – Capital S, Capital C – covered every surface, I overheard one of Sarah’s friends say wryly, “Just think, one day these will all be yours.” It made me take a hard look. And when I packed them away?  I culled them ruthlessly! The resin Walmart Santas? Good-bye. The one with the broken bag of toys? Adios. The one whose hat had been glued back on? Farewell. Stuffed ones that had only been chewed on by the dog a little bit? Au revoir!

And even though I said “so long” to some Santas,  I kept favorites – the ones that were gifts, the ones with stories. There’s the Santa we found our first Christmas in Ketchikan – I may be blending memories of a December art walk and the annual Tree Lighting, but I remember venturing downtown that first year: Gracie a baby, the kids bundled, cheeks rosy – the whole Norman Rockwell picture. We went from store to store, cheerfully greeted by friendly folks who would later become friends, and artists we came to love, sipping hot cider and nibbling on Christmas cookies. A kind shopkeeper let Laura pick out an ornament —a Santa, the first piece of the collection.  

After that, more Santas began to arrive – a set of nesting-doll Santas, a gift from a favorite aunt and uncle.  A ceramic Santa-shaped cookie jar that showed up on my desk one Christmas, filled with coffee from a Secret Santa exchange. Another is from Pier One, a cheery Santa-shaped bell, which I carefully brought home in my luggage from Seattle.

Perhaps my favorite of them all is the retro “spaghetti strand” Santa I won at a white elephant gift exchange at a staff Christmas party. From the same vintage as my childhood mugs, he is round and jolly, not at all creepy or scary, unlike most Santas from the 1960s. That old Spaghetti Santa opened a new door. I created an eBay account and soon he had three new companions. One holding a tree, one in wintry white, and one final addition, a German Belsnickel Old World Santa. I closed my eBay account and made myself stop there, but not before he cemented my commitment to a full-on Santa Collection.

Over the past few years, Scott and I have continued to pare down our Christmas decorations. I am not a particular follower of the Marie Kondo method; however, I am familiar enough with it to use parts of the method that work for me- asking the question, “Does it bring joy?” And the answer is, “Yes, Marie, Spaghetti Santa brings me joy (and he’s not going anywhere).”  

I still hang ornaments from my childhood.  A curly-haired angel quilted by my mom.  A confetti-covered ornament that I can still picture my mom and her friends creating at our table. They don’t take up much space, though, and they live in a box tucked into a corner of the closet. Those three Christmas Village houses, a box or two of ornaments, some strings of lights, and, yes – a box of Santas. And yes, Sarah, they will one day all be yours, and I promise you’ll love them.