A few weeks ago, the headlines began screaming:
Will Christmas be on the Shelves in 2021?
My mother would not have understood this question. People certainly went Christmas-shopping in her generation, and with enthusiasm: the stores were beautifully decorated; the show windows breathtaking. Everything looked magical.
And while we kids poured over the Sears-Roebuck toy catalogue, our moms were buying bulky colored light bulbs for the light strands which, by the way, did not yet twinkle. They bought new cookie sheets and replenished the vials of ground cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon, and ginger, as well as those silvery decorating balls. (I don’t see those anymore, so I’m guessing they had bad chemicals in them.) If we were lucky, our parents bought one or two toys that we really wanted—but only assuming those toys met a certain standard of quality. The construction of toys back then was so solid, several are still in my grandchildren’s toy box.
We did buy a real tree, of course, at least until artificial trees appeared on the market. From that point on, the tree came out in December and lived the rest of the year in the attic. But Christmas never stemmed from the availability of objects on a store shelf.
I’m as guilty as anyone for falling for cheaply made plastic “stuff” on the shelves—the very shelves that may be bare this Christmas. I too have bought seasonal baubles from the dollar and big-box stores, all of which disappoint. It’s tempting to buy such things for solutions, rather than working with material we have.
Plus, I understand the frustration of a parent who seeks, and cannot find, a specific toy for a beloved child, although, seriously, you have to ask: What force planted the desire for this particular toy? The truth is, most of what a child “gets” at Christmas today is going to fall apart or malfunction quickly. We know that when we buy it.
Our merchants have suffered endlessly through this virus shutdown. They deserve a blockbuster blowout. Seek out the local stores where you can. Give gift certificates for local services, shops, and restaurants. Patronize these venues as much as you can. But still, wouldn’t you love to see the response if the shelves set aside for plastic toys and ancillary, unnecessary stuff really stayed empty this Christmas?
Facing empty shelves, people would have to move to Plan B. Plan B involves taking on, and trusting, what long was the norm: a Christmas built on traditions and intangibles. Let me tell you a story.
A good 22 years ago, we were invited into the bosom of a German family we had just met in Weimar. Being embraced by these people was like taking a course in European historical culture. Restraint, care, and purpose framed every aspect of their celebrations, especially at Christmas. We met them right after they had gone into the mountains to cut their tree, but in subsequent years we joined them for that hilarious activity. Shops closed at noon on Christmas Eve, so everything had to be planned. Activity on Christmas Eve focused on their kitchen, their freshly decorated tree (with real candles), and, in early evening, a candle-lit Christmas pageant at their church. A church founded in 1168, the candle-lit pageant was little different from one that could have been directed by J.S. Bach (who worked in Weimar as a court organist).
After the church pageant, we sat around a blazing fireplace in their cozy parlor and munched marvelous treats. Each person opened one, possibly two, presents: these were eminently practical, modest, and carefully chosen gifts. Midnight services beckoned those ready to trek out into the cold again (and yes, most people do walk everywhere in such an historical city like Weimar, the car staying wrapped up in a garage until it is really needed).
The next day, what is called First Christmas Day, there was another church service, followed by a festive spread of traditional German foods better than anything you ever saw in a storybook. Primarily I remember the goose which, in this family, “belongs” to the First Christmas Day menu, as well as the delicate Kartoffelklösche (dumplings formed from grated, highly pressed potatoes wrapped around a crouton). There was Rotkoh (spiced red cabbage), a fresh berry sauce, foil-wrapped chocolates at every plate, and other treats I cannot recall. Visiting and playing board games filled the rest of the day.
Then dawned Second Christmas Day, which had a different rhythm and different menu (traditionally, for this family, wild game, and that year, a roast of boar). Friends were invited to come together for the celebration, and they did! The next day, Day 3 of Christmas, always brought an outdoor adventure—that particular year, a drive to go cross-country skiing, the first time I’d ever done such a thing.
Virtually everything in their Christmas celebrations came from local sources (including the goose and boar) or crafts they fashioned by hand. Nothing was breakable or temporary. Everything was rooted in time-honored tradition and utility. I close my eyes and remember vividly the magic of that Christmas even today.
We cannot replicate the cultural intricacies of this experience—it wasn’t honed overnight, but across centuries. But being part of it changed our approach to Christmas from that day forward. For one, it made me stop doubting whether inherited traditions were obsolete or silly. It caused me to stop looking towards commercial products as the answer, frankly, to anything.
The problems of gaps in our country’s supply chain and the economic impact of ships backed up in ports with truckers waiting idly in frustration are extremely serious issues—I do not make light of any of this. But one thing these problems cannot do is keep Christmas off the shelves. It never has been on them, and never will be.
