Maybe my memory is playing tricks on me, but it seems like so many of my favorite books as a child featured detailed descriptions of the holidays. They usually centered on Christmas, but also Hanukkah, New Year’s, and the solstice, depending on my reading choices. Regardless, the fascination for me hinged not on what they celebrated but how. The books I favored tended to be older or historically set, the holiday observations simpler and more filled with meaning, at least in my eyes. I’m sure I read contemporary stories, too, but those never stuck with me in the same way. I loved the descriptions of elaborate holiday foods, rooms lit by candles, games of charades, characters singing together or playing instruments for their own entertainment.
Some of the most vivid literary Christmases I recall took place in the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. From that small cabin in the woods of Wisconsin, all across the western territories as the family grew, struggled with the hardships of weather and poverty, they always found a way to celebrate and were grateful to be together. I also appreciated characters who were forced to make do in difficult times, to find special ways to celebrate when they couldn’t afford gifts or elaborate parties. In Noel Streatfeild’s BALLET SHOES, the makeshift family finds themselves stretched further each year, and yet someone always comes through to make things joyful.
Ultimately, I believe what attracted me to these stories was the contrast from the growing commercialism of the holidays in my own life. Not through any fault of my family, but because the world seemed to be leaning that way more each year. I look around now, at the endless flow of sales announcements into my inbox, at the “Black Friday” deals that start weeks before Thanksgiving and continue well beyond the day after, at all the helpful reminders of tight supply chains, last delivery dates for shipping, the endless pressure to buy, and it’s exhausting.
I loved Christmas presents as much as any child, but decades later, it’s the experiences and connection I remember most. Going into Manhattan to see the tree at Rockefeller Center and watch the ice skaters. Walking past all the department stores that had vignettes set up in their windows. Picking out our own tree and how it made the entire house smell like pine. Dance classes shifting to Nutcracker rehearsals, with musty costumes and too much hairspray and endless loops of Tchaikovsky’s gorgeous music. Staying up late to watch It’s a Wonderful Life with my mother. Checking the mailbox each day for a new batch of cards. Baking things we only ate at that time of year. My grandmother’s fake, white tree with the beautiful creche beneath it featuring free-standing figures, including four camels with knobby knees and skinny legs that refused to remain standing.
And there were always the stories. Family stories of holidays past, things that happened before I was born yet still somehow were part of my history. My grandfather worked as a waiter in a hotel bar, which meant he never had New Year’s Eve off. So my grandmother would take my mother and uncle to the movies, back when movie houses were enormous show places, with balconies and elaborate decorations. For the holiday, everyone received hats and noise makers along with their ticket for the night, a double feature with newsreels and cartoons. Just before midnight, the theater would stop the film and bring up the lights for the countdown, and the entire audience would cheer and clap and wish each other a happy new year. Then in the afternoon of New Year’s Day, my grandfather would take the family over to the west side, and they’d walk around and buy books and records to get the year off to a good start.
I yearn for an old fashioned holiday season. Call it nostalgia. Blame inflation worries and exhaustion over the state of the world and social media fatigue. I dream of a live tree that smells of pine, cookies baking, my entire family together—though that last one is no longer possible. And so I’m doing what I can. Plans with friends. A stack of holiday cards to write out. A few new Christmas books. A belated holiday trip to see my mother in January, when airfares are more normal and I’ll be less concerned with crowds and Covid transmission.
The holiday season sits on a fence. On one side, all the joys and memories of a wonderous time of year; on the other side, the difficulties of not living up to that joy and a reminder that those memories represent a time that’s gone. Now, at the start of the season, I want to wish you all a wonderful month, whatever you may celebrate, and at the same time, urge you to take care of yourselves and the people around you. Reach out if you need a hug or a shoulder to lean on. Reach out if someone near you might need the same. Send a card, write a letter, make a phone call. It’s not about what you buy, but what you give.
For those of you planning to get some writing done in December, I’m delighted to announce that my annual December Writing Challenge kicks off tomorrow. You can find the full details over on my blog, but the short version is try to write a little bit every single day over the month. Make it a priority, and come January, when you have a new year’s goal regarding your writing, you’ll have terrific momentum to send you on your way. Happy writing!
If you are shopping for holiday gifts, here are a few great places to check out for reading/writing-related items:
Los Angeles Public Library Store
Slightly Foxed Reader’s Quarterly
11 Punny Mugs for Language Lovers
Literature and Latte (home of the Scrivener app)
A few holiday reads from my TBR:
HIGH RISING by Angela Thirkell
CHRISTMAS AT HIGH RISING by Angela Thirkell
Noel Streatfeild’s CHRISTMAS STORIES
A CHRISTMAS CAROL AND OTHER CHRISTMAS WRITINGS by Charles Dickens
CHRISTMAS DAYS by Jeanette Winterson
That’s all for now. I aim to get another issue out before the new year, but if not, I wish you all the joy of the season and a wonderful start to 2023. Please do comment with your thoughts or an update on how you are doing, as I love hearing from you.🥰
Dear Nephele: In a commercial world, your news letter is a blessing. Thank you for sharing your childhood memories. We all need to remember and then make new ones. Christmas is so many things, including tastes. I hope you can find some of those childhood foods or make them, if you have time. Foods, and I guess mostly desserts, we only have at the holidays. Somehow savoring them keeps the season going and the memories close. Cheers, Jacqueline