When I was growing up, I liked flipping through a book on my mother's bookshelf, one, to my knowledge, my mother had never read. It reminded me of those books one might receive with a book club membership or as a gift, a compilation of customs, traditions, recipes, gift ideas, and short stories.
As a child with an eternal penchant for making, creating, and giving, I was always drawn to the craft and homemade gift section of this book, and daydreamed about the day I would raise a large family and engage in these activities with them.
I remember one year, my sister and I spent weeks coloring and making decorations as a Christmas morning surprise, rising in the middle of the night to tape them to the family room paneling, and then - once reality set it - (My parents would not have enjoyed them, trust me) sneaking back when my mother was preparing breakfast to remove and discard them all.
As an adult, with my children and with the children I have mentored, we engaged in plenty of reading, creating, cooking, and baking. Indeed, our best memories ( Christmas, other holidays, and not) centered around these activities.
But it wasn't until over thirty years ago, as a newbie adult expecting my first child, that I read the recipes and short stories. Not much gathering in the kitchen to prepare meals and goodies with love was part of my childhood, although that, too, was an element I had wanted to incorporate into my home. So aroundThanksgiving 1982, when morning sickness that was really 'round-the-clock sickness had somewhat abated, and I could read about food without becoming ill, I checked out the recipes in the book.
I mean, what did people make and eat for the holiday? Thus, I educated myself...and dreamed...
And because I was also an introvert, serious about the business about growing a family and legacy, as well as not feeling well, I also had time on my hands. Because I had been so sick, I had stopped working and had dropped most of my classes at the University of St Francis (Really, what was I going to do with a journalism degree when I really wanted to grow a family?), except one. I filled much of the time with reading. So I finally checked out the poems and short stories along with the recipes.
Between the pages of that book, I discovered the best Christmas short stories ever. Ever!
So when Tom Hernandez suggested, for our WriteOn Joliet party next Thursday, that we read, not our own works, but a favorite one by another author pertaining to Christmas, I knew exactly where to find them, inside a tattered book, covers long gone from wear and much use over the years.
I store that book in my ministry cabinet (The backstory story of that piece of furniture and the origin of its name is for another post), but yesterday morning, when I went to grab it, Daniel had stacked a couple of laundry baskets in front of it, and he was sleeping. (For those who don't know, our family went through a period of homelessness; we are living in a two-bedroom apartment near work and school; and Daniel took possession of the living room as "his" room). Not wishing to disturb him, I decided the book could wait until after work.
A quick search later that night proved futile. The book wasn't there.
I asked Rebekah if she had seen it. She said Timothy had thrown it away during the move. My oldest son's cat had a marking problem, and the book, apparently, had been a target. Rebekah said she had begged him not to throw it away as the fudge recipe she made each year and gave as gifts was in that book. But, as I had told the kids to be mercilless and heartless when parting with possessions during the move - for out situation had been quite bleak, and we could keep but little - he had dutifully tossed the book.
Celebrating Christmas without that book was unthinkable. Rebekah asked me for the name. I hadn't a clue. I only thought, due to design and illustrations, that it had been published in the 1950s. So we did an internet search and viewed hundreds of book covers from that era. I racked my brain for the title of one of the less common stories, something other than O. Henry's Gift of the Magi or WHO A Miserable, Merry Christmas (both are in that volume), one of the two I had wanted to read.
Finallyi, it flashed in my brain: As Ye Sow, by Dorothy Canfield.
We did a search on Amazon, and three choices popped up. One was a reprint of that beloved book...unavailable!
But now armed with a title, Rebekah did a further search and found it on several other sites. She's planning to order it today and hoping that book will arrive before December 18. As Ye Sow is a little long-ish, but since I rarely read at group, I figure, what the heck? Any member that has ever been a parent (most of us) will enjoy it. Part of what makes this story special to me is that I had read it while anticipating my first child, so that now, at a different place in the journey, it has a different poignancy.
I might even be selfish and read my second favorite, too, an impossible story about miracles, unrelatable at the time, so very relatable now, as my life has been filled with miracles.
For you non-WriteOners, dying to glimpse this book, here'sa link:
http://bigbooksplus.ecrater.com/p/7992160/complete-christmas-book-franklin-watts
As a child with an eternal penchant for making, creating, and giving, I was always drawn to the craft and homemade gift section of this book, and daydreamed about the day I would raise a large family and engage in these activities with them.
I remember one year, my sister and I spent weeks coloring and making decorations as a Christmas morning surprise, rising in the middle of the night to tape them to the family room paneling, and then - once reality set it - (My parents would not have enjoyed them, trust me) sneaking back when my mother was preparing breakfast to remove and discard them all.
As an adult, with my children and with the children I have mentored, we engaged in plenty of reading, creating, cooking, and baking. Indeed, our best memories ( Christmas, other holidays, and not) centered around these activities.
But it wasn't until over thirty years ago, as a newbie adult expecting my first child, that I read the recipes and short stories. Not much gathering in the kitchen to prepare meals and goodies with love was part of my childhood, although that, too, was an element I had wanted to incorporate into my home. So aroundThanksgiving 1982, when morning sickness that was really 'round-the-clock sickness had somewhat abated, and I could read about food without becoming ill, I checked out the recipes in the book.
I mean, what did people make and eat for the holiday? Thus, I educated myself...and dreamed...
And because I was also an introvert, serious about the business about growing a family and legacy, as well as not feeling well, I also had time on my hands. Because I had been so sick, I had stopped working and had dropped most of my classes at the University of St Francis (Really, what was I going to do with a journalism degree when I really wanted to grow a family?), except one. I filled much of the time with reading. So I finally checked out the poems and short stories along with the recipes.
Between the pages of that book, I discovered the best Christmas short stories ever. Ever!
So when Tom Hernandez suggested, for our WriteOn Joliet party next Thursday, that we read, not our own works, but a favorite one by another author pertaining to Christmas, I knew exactly where to find them, inside a tattered book, covers long gone from wear and much use over the years.
I store that book in my ministry cabinet (The backstory story of that piece of furniture and the origin of its name is for another post), but yesterday morning, when I went to grab it, Daniel had stacked a couple of laundry baskets in front of it, and he was sleeping. (For those who don't know, our family went through a period of homelessness; we are living in a two-bedroom apartment near work and school; and Daniel took possession of the living room as "his" room). Not wishing to disturb him, I decided the book could wait until after work.
A quick search later that night proved futile. The book wasn't there.
I asked Rebekah if she had seen it. She said Timothy had thrown it away during the move. My oldest son's cat had a marking problem, and the book, apparently, had been a target. Rebekah said she had begged him not to throw it away as the fudge recipe she made each year and gave as gifts was in that book. But, as I had told the kids to be mercilless and heartless when parting with possessions during the move - for out situation had been quite bleak, and we could keep but little - he had dutifully tossed the book.
Celebrating Christmas without that book was unthinkable. Rebekah asked me for the name. I hadn't a clue. I only thought, due to design and illustrations, that it had been published in the 1950s. So we did an internet search and viewed hundreds of book covers from that era. I racked my brain for the title of one of the less common stories, something other than O. Henry's Gift of the Magi or WHO A Miserable, Merry Christmas (both are in that volume), one of the two I had wanted to read.
Finallyi, it flashed in my brain: As Ye Sow, by Dorothy Canfield.
We did a search on Amazon, and three choices popped up. One was a reprint of that beloved book...unavailable!
But now armed with a title, Rebekah did a further search and found it on several other sites. She's planning to order it today and hoping that book will arrive before December 18. As Ye Sow is a little long-ish, but since I rarely read at group, I figure, what the heck? Any member that has ever been a parent (most of us) will enjoy it. Part of what makes this story special to me is that I had read it while anticipating my first child, so that now, at a different place in the journey, it has a different poignancy.
I might even be selfish and read my second favorite, too, an impossible story about miracles, unrelatable at the time, so very relatable now, as my life has been filled with miracles.
For you non-WriteOners, dying to glimpse this book, here'sa link:
http://bigbooksplus.ecrater.com/p/7992160/complete-christmas-book-franklin-watts
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