Goin' Down to Mama's

The (Tinfoil) Star in the East

My mother gave me this Nativity scene before Dave and I married. While I'm too lazy to put up a tree—and have yet to get our Christmas cards in the mail—I never let a December go by without setting up the Nativity scene in our living room, usually right after I put away the leftover turkey and dressing from Thanksgiving. I think it's beautiful. The first Nativity scene I remember wasn't quite so polished. I'm pretty sure we won it at an office party when Daddy sold life insurance in Birmingham. I was around four, I guess. The manger was made of cardboard, with straw glued to the roof, and it had this big flap that folded down in front, revealing the Nativity scene inside. The Magi's feet were glued to that flap, so when you folded it down, the wise men magically appeared, standing before the Holy Family (who were also glued down, inside the manger). The Star in the East was a little cutout right over Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus. When we first got the scene, there was a glitter-covered star behind the cutout—thus, giving it sparkle and dimension. But the glittery part eventually came loose and we lost it. Undaunted, Mama taped a little piece of tinfoil behind the cutout, restoring the star to its silvery luster. She still displays that little Nativity scene every Christmas. And the Star in the East is still made of Reynolds Wrap:)

Sunday Morning Serenity

Long lay the world in sin and error pining, 
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
["O Holy Night!" lyrics by Joseph S. Dwight] 

Does your soul feel its worth this Sunday morning? Because that's what Christmas is all about—the worth of your soul—the worth of all our personal, unique, in-sin-and-error-pining souls. So as we celebrate the birth of Christ, we should also give thanks for—and never forget—the great value God places on every soul, on yours and mine and every single flawed, imperfect, struggling-daily-to-get-it-right one. And if He values us that much . . . we should value each other. 

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish,
but have everlasting life.
John 3:16

 

Yule Log on the TV & I Haven't Killed the Amaryllis

I have long struggled to find my voice as a Christmas decorator. When I first bought my house, way before Dave and I married, I wanted to be just like Aunt Grace and Billie Darby back home. Aunt Grace and Billie always had wreaths on every door, themed lawn decor, and lots of big red bows (which actually looked like bows, unlike the ones I tried to make). But at the time, I was single and working long hours, so I'd try to pull off this Christmas fantasy in a single afternoon over the Thanksgiving vacation. I'd wrestle a ginormous artificial tree (which didn't look nearly that big on the Walmart showroom) into my dining room and cover it with as many ornaments as I could afford (bought by the box at the aforementioned Walmart or given to me by friends and family). I'd remove all the pictures and what-nots from my entertainment center, which was the closest thing I had to a mantel, and hang my stocking from it with care. Faux garlands around the iron railing on my stoop, a mailbox badge that kept sliding upside down till it fell off . . .  Let's just say there was no mistaking my home for Martha Stewart's. Once Dave started helping me, it got a lot more fun. I realized that what I like best are lights and flowers. So I have a Christmas garden on my dining room table. (Grew an amaryllis and paperwhites from bulbs, and they are still alive, thank you very much. AND I have one orchid that's actually reblooming. There is hope.) I'm a sucker for tiny white lights. And once I put them up, I don't want to take them down. So I don't. At least, not the ones in the backyard. We take pity on the neighbors and take down the few we put up out front. But once we strung them around our deck, they were so festive that I wanted to see them on summer nights when we cook out. And then we added a tiny back porch off Dave's office this year, which is now home to some purple pepper lights I unearthed in our storage shed. We bought them in New Orleans, and I know without thinking twice that they ain't comin' down. I put some more of them around the big window in my Story Shack (probably there for good) and some icicle lights on my arbor (which just won't look the same without them, so they're probably there for the duration, too). I write this by the light of some cool little globe lights, wrapped around the silk ficus tree in my living room. (Even I can't kill a silk ficus . . . but I probably need to dust it.) The globe lights went up one Christmas years ago and never came down. I guess I've decided that whatever makes you smile should be part of your decor. And so with Hank the Cat snoozing on the sofa next to me, my silk ficus all aglow, a Christmas garden on my table, and a roaring fire on the televsion, thanks to a "yule log" DVD that Aunt Grace gave me . . . "it's Christmastime in the city." Wishing you many little pockets of joy this season.

 

Mama Says: "I Am Give Out"

Late yesterday afternoon, after a freelancing marathon in the Story Shack, I called Mama to check in and see what she and Daddy were up to. "Well," she said, "we've been Christmas shopping all day long, and I am give out." Now here is a Southernism that doesn't get celebrated nearly enough. It's every bit as culturally iconic as "fixin' to"—and it's more layered. (Reference photo of Hank to see what it looks like.) "Give out" doesn't just mean "tired." It means "completely exhausted, incapabale of getting off the couch, incapable of coherent thought, and by the way if anybody in this house thinks I'm getting in that kitchen and cooking supper, they're outta their mind." I don't know its origins. Maybe it began, like so much Southern speech, long, long ago, across The Pond, when some Irish or Scottish woman, after a long day of washing and ironing and scrubbing the cottage cried out, "I hath given alst I can give!" and we, being the way we are, turned that into "I'm give out." In any case, we all know what it means and how it feels. After a too-long-for-comfort dry spell, I suddenly got covered up in work, and now that some of it is about to wrap up, I, like Mama, am give out. But like Mama also says, "It's a good tired."

[And now a word about Hank: See the throw he's snoozing on? My friend Tahme gave it to me years ago, and it's still my version of a Snuggie for wintertime TV viewing. When I'm a Christmas-movie-watching couch potato, with this throw over me, Hank will climb onto my lap for a nap—but only on the solid tan side. He won't sleep on the leopard-print side of the throw, I suppose out of respect for a fellow cat. It's OK, Hank. Tahme and I are animal lovers. It's strictly faux fur. No cat was harmed in the making of this throw.]

Sunday Morning Serenity

And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord, 
And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.

Luke 2: 46-47

I think I read the Christmas story a little differently since I got married. Mary and Joseph had great faith in God, and that's where we naturally focus when we talk about them—on the spiritual, other-worldly aspect of their lives. But they were a very human couple. And as they traveled that road to Bethlehem, they gave us an amazing example, not only of faith in God but of faith in each other. It takes incredible trust to say to another person, "Let's take this journey together." It takes even more every time you reach one of those life-changing crossroads, those moments when you make decisions about everything from homes to jobs to kids to parents to money to you name it. You won't always agree. But if your faith is true, you'll get where you're going. You'll stay on your long, winding journey together.

 

Nat, Bing & the Gang

Well, we've covered Christmas presents and Christmas movies—I guess it's time for music and then we'll all be ready for Santa. I LOVE Christmas music—the spiritual, the secular, Nat King Cole and those chestnuts roasting over an open fire, Bing's White Christmas, Judy Garland wishing me a merry little Christmas . . . Do you know what I miss? Yester-year Christmas variety specials that were always "with" somebody—Christmas with the King Family, Christmas with Andy Williams . . . or the Carpenters or the Osmonds or John Denver or Lawrence Welk—I think Peggy Fleming might even have starred in one or two. Those TV specials were my only chance to see snow at Christmas—if they didn't actually shoot them in snow, they'd blow the fake stuff outside a big window in Andy Williams' faux living room with the roaring fire and perfect tree. Sigh. Well, maybe we won't get to see Mr. Welk and his singers or watch Bobby and Cissy polka to Frosty the Snowman, but we can still sing along with our favorite Christmas tunes. I'm forcing myself to limit my list to 20. I could go on and on. Please share yours!

1. Every carol in the hymnal, but most especially O Holy Night, What Child Is This, O Come O Come Emmanuel, and Angels From the Realms of Glory (and I know I'm cheating a bit by listing an entire section of the hymnal, but how can you choose???)

2.Quincey Jones and company's amazing version of the Hallalujah Chorus—I think it's called A Soulful Hallelujah

3. Do You Hear What I Hear

4. Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella

5. James Taylor's most excellent Christmas CD (cheating again by listing an entire CD)

6. Anything from Windham Hill's Winter Solstice series (cheating—an entire series)

7. Anything Celtic—Irish music and Christmas just belong together (cheating—an entire genre)

8. Bing's White Christmas

9. Nat's A Christmas Song

10.  Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas (Judy Garland, of COURSE)

11.  Christmastime is Here (Charlie Brown)

12. Blue Christmas (who among us doesn't like to sing those "woo-hoo-hoo-hoos" to back up Elvis?)

13. Santa Baby (didn't Eartha Kitt do the really great one?)

14.  Baby, It's Cold Outside (especially if Dean Martin is involved)

15.  I'll Be Home for Christmas

16.  There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays

17.  Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree (Brenda Lee)

18. That bluesy, sad Christmas song by the Eagles . . . what WAS the name of that?

19. Theme from Home Alone (I think it's called Somewhere in My Memory—somewhere in mine are these song titles I can't recall)

20. All I Want for Christmas is You (yes, I know Mariah can go a tad far, but I challenge you to listen to this without snapping your fingers . . . or driving faster than local law enforcement recommends) 

[Image by Chance Agrella@Freerangestock.com]

 

Ralphie! You'll Put Your Eye Out!

I don't think it's possible to make a better Christmas movie than A Christmas Story. Ralphie and that Red Rider BB Gun, the school bully finally gettin' what's comin' to him, little brother Randy zipped into so much poufy coat he can't move, the swearing dad, the sweet mom washing out the kids' mouths with Life Boy, the pack of dogs, the FRAGILE (pronounced frah-JEEL-a) Major Award . . . Come ON! How can you beat that? Since, oh, about Thanksgiving, Dave's had to listen to my nightly whine: "Where are the Christmas movies? Why aren't they showing Christmas movies??!!!" Well, at last, they're showing them. And here's the thing. While there's nothing better than a great Christmas movie, there's nothing more dreadful than a bad one. But here at Goin' Down to Mama's World International HQ, we like to focus on the positive. Here are the movies I live for this time of year. Got some of your own???

1.    A Christmas Story, for all the reasons previously listed.

2.    A Holiday Affair (Original). I could watch financially strapped Robert Mitchum steal Janet Leigh away from her persnickety good-provider fiancee every day of the week. (Thanks to my friend Jane for introducing me to that one.)

3.    Miracle on 34th Street (Original). Love Maureen O'Hara and her common sense. And that fiesty little Natalie Wood. 

4.    The Bishop's Wife. Cary Grant. Loretta Young. Ice skates. Done.

5.    Anything Charlie Brown.

6.    Anything on Walton's Mountain.

7.    Home Alone I & II, though the brilliantly evil Tim Curry makes me partial to the sequel.

8.    National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, just because there are few things that make Dave laugh that hysterically, so I get a kick out of watching him get a kick out of Chevy Chase.

9.    Santa Claus Is Coming to Town (animated). Everybody sing—"Put one foot in front of the other . . ."

10.  It's A Wonderful Life. It's sort of required viewing. I don't think Santa Claus will come down your chimney if you skip it . . .

 

Best Presents Ever

Christmas is not about presents. Christmas has become too commercial. Agree. Agree. But still . . . don't you have a handful of Christmas presents that stand out in your mind? The ones that made your face light up like Ralphie's when he gets that Red Rider BB Gun in A Christmas Story?  Herewith, my list (in no particular order). Please share yours!

My Engagement Ring: Okay, that one actually is number one. Tough to top. 

Easy Bake Oven: I made Daddy lots of soggy little chocolate cakes from those mixes that came with it, and he would brag on them as if Martha Stewart herself had baked them.

Crissy Doll: Crissy had this strange bilevel hair—chopped to chin length but with a loooong ponytail you could pull out by mashing a button on her belly, or wind up with a knob on her back. My cousin Kathy and I both got them one year. Kathy was always good with hair. Her Crissy was magnificently coiffed, while mine (like me) was always in a bit of a tangle. Our older cousin Vivian Ann made us each a whole boxful of clothes for Crissy. HIp chick, that doll.

Toy Kitchen: Dave probably wishes I loved our real kitchen as much as I loved the playset, which had a stove and a double sink. Don't remember a fridge . . .

Domestic Toys: Now that I think about it, I got a whole lot of toys preparing me to be a homemaker—the kitchen, a washing machine, baby dolls and strollers . . . apparently, it didn't take . . .:)

Velvet Suit: From a fashion standpoint, the late seventies were "a different time"—halfway between The Brady Bunch and Dynasty. I was at the mall with Mama when I spotted this wine-colored velvet jacket and skirt, with a white bow-tie blouse. I went nuts. I had to have it. I immediately put it on The List. Mama should've won an Oscar for her performance that year, as she told me over and over that she wished they could get that suit, but it was just too expensive and she thought she should tell me up front because she didn't want me to be disappointed. But on Christmas morning, there it was. The Wine Velvet Suit. It complemented my big hair just beautifully.

The PIng Pong Table: This landed with us maybe the last year we lived with my grandmother. Sears sent one brace that was a tiny bit too short, making it impossible to put the thing together so that it would stand up. When I got up on Christmas morning, there was the ping-pong table, upside down in Grandme's dining room, with Daddy standing over it, shaking his head.

I could go on. Did anybody else get a Hippity-Hop????

 

Sunday Morning Serenity

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. Luke 2: 13-14

This Sunday, our church will celebrate Christmas with a Hanging of the Green service and an old-fashioned carol sing. In other words, "we're having our program." And that's something rural congregations start asking each other around Thanksgiving: "Hey, when's y'all's program?" Back in the day, we went all out, with costumes and dramatic performances and everything. Shepherds in bathrobes with towels on their heads. Wise men in bathrobes with paper crowns on their heads. Star of the East beamed onto a bare church wall with a slide projector, which you could hear humming away as the Magi made their way from the foyer, down the aisle to Bethlehem, which was located just a few inches from the front two pews. The first time I remember participating, I was about five or six, and I had a co-starring role with my older cousin, Kathy. We were angels. Our job was to scrunch down behind a bannister wall that ran in front of the pulpit until it was time to sing "Joy to the World." Then we were to pop up and hold our arms heavenward throughout the song. We did it, too—in angel robes our mothers made from sheets. (Aunt Joyce was always pretty crafty, so I imagine she was creative director of that little enterprise.) My wings were made of white cardboard trimmed in silver garland; Kathy's were made of white tissue paper wrapped around a wire frame —and trimmed in silver garland. We wore wire halos trimmed in . . . anyone? anyone? Silver garland. I'm not sure where in the Holy Scriptures it says that angels must wear silver garland, but wear it, we did. There won't be any garland-bedecked angels in our program tomorrow. But there will be that same excitement and nervous energy and, I hope, joy that comes from doing your best to stay on key and remember when the altos come in and hoping to goodness you don't sing when you're not supposed to. In the end, none of that matters. All you really need to do is make a joyful noise—and try not to lock your knees so you don't pass out in the choir loft.

[Image by Nick Degler@freerangestock.com]

Wordsworth, Dwight Yoakam & Me

Last night I was driving home with a box of Publix fried chicken in the passenger seat (supper) and Dwight Yoakam's most excellent live version of "Heartaches by the Number" on the CD player, and I thought to myself, "Life is good." I'm not sure what that says about me, though I suspect Jeff Foxworthy would have some thoughts on the subject. I had a similar experience the morning before, working on a freelance project in the Story Shack. There I was, in the blissful quiet before dawn, with a Christmas candle burning on my desk, Hank the Cat snoozing in his chair beside me, and the purple pepper lights Dave and I bought in New Orleans strung around the window. I had on the kind of velour jogging suit that Granny used to wear to Walmart. And I thought to myself . . . "Life is good." If I peer way back into the cobwebs of my brain where I keep some of the stuff I learned in grad school, I can just make out Mr. William Wordsworth's "spots of time": 

There are in our existence spots of time,
Which with distinct pre-eminence retain
A renovating Virtue . . .

I have come to believe that a very simple moment can have a "renovating virtue." I don't remember exactly how Mr. Wordsworth defines that (and I'm sure I will hear from literary compadres who DO remember:), but to me it means something that hits the restart button in your heart and soul, something that sheds a new light, helps you see things in a new way. I doubt the esteemed poet would appreciate the connection between his spots, Granny's Walmart uniform, and "Heartaches by the Number." But I like to think ole Dwight would get it.