Long before Martha Stewart was gilding poinsettias and in the days when Bill Gates used windows to catch a glimpse of Santa and his sleigh, Mom and Dad were making Christmas. As an officer in the merchant marines, Dad traveled 7 - 9 months of the year. Mom lived for Christmas year 'round and the loving and giving that is all a part of that season was central to Mom and Dad's life.
Beginning the day after Thanksgiving each year, our home was transformed into a winter wonderland. Sequins, felt, and little gold bells were prominent in our south bay home in the early 1960s. We had a white snowman wall-hanging, a gold banner of angels, and five red and green felt stockings that bedecked our fireplace.
When we moved to Marin, our decorations were lost in our spacious new home so our decor gradually yet steadily grew to fill the space. Mom had a lot to do with increasing the collection, but it seems those little rascals may have multiplied on their own between January and mid-November. After all, there wasn't much to do in those storage boxes during the off season.
Eventually there were so many Christmas decorations that the standard year-round wall and surface items were packed away and replaced by the growing collection of holiday delights. The conversion was quite the production as it took the entire Thanksgiving weekend for the transition to be nearly completed. Nearly, that is, because the trees were not included in the Thanksgiving weekend transformation.
Wreaths adorned mirrors, garlands framed doorways, and ceramic masterpieces crowned tabletops. There were shadow boxes that contained nostalgic Christmas icons, handmade beauties that reflected Mom's talents, and a lovely creche that topped our piano. Lest we or any visitor thought a private moment could be stolen in our home, a mouse, elf, reindeer, or angel was spying from every nook and cranny. Santa certainly knows how to plant his helpers. And so did Mom.
The Trees
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In any given year, we had as many as three Christmas trees in our home: one in the living room, one in the family room, and one in the master bedroom. Each was trimmed to compliment the decor of the room it adorned.
Remember those aluminum Christmas trees that were popular in the early 1960s? We had one. Far be it from our parents to not have the current trends that appeared on the pages of "Look" magazine. The silver foil branches were decorated with ornaments mom cleverly made from -- of all things -- curtain hooks and resin crystals. She recruited us to help her and, with a little glue and some time in the oven, these hardware store items were converted into little stained glass renderings of angels, candy canes, and Santa himself. Dad bought one of those revolving color wheels that, when placed in front of a flood light, changed the hue of the tree to blue, then red, then gold, then green.
When we moved to Marin, our aluminum tree served as the central decor in our family room. The tree chosen for the living room for a few years was a traditional pine. If Dad wasn't traveling in December, we would make a family trip to a Christmas tree farm where we would select the perfect tree, then cut it down ourselves. While we waited for Dad and some helpers to tie the tree to the roof of our car, Mom would produce a box of chocolate covered cherries. We would each savor 1 or 2 before the long ride home.
The first Christmas we spent in Marin, there was not a stick of furniture in our living room. The furnishings we had brought from our south bay home were moved into the family room, and Mom and Dad were taking their time acquiring beautiful, original pieces for their new living room. So, to fill an obvious void, our evergreen was placed in the very center of the room. In the years that followed, the living room took shape with sofa, tables, chairs, and lamps, so the tree was placed in the corner of the room, right in front of two of the bay windows, and that location became its traditional spot.
One of Mom's famous "crafts of the year" during the early 1970s was jeweled ornaments. She would buy kits of many colors complete with Styrofoam ball, sequins, resin and filigree beads, pearls, ribbon, and very, very, very long straight pins. The idea was to gather sequins and bead onto the pin in a predetermined order, somewhat like a shish-kabob, then skewer the little ball with dozens of these spears. The last step was to wrap ribbon around the ball and finish it off with a loop for hanging. If successfully done, one could no longer see white foam.
Mom made dozens of these ornaments, and she once again recruited her three daughters to create an ornament or five each. Once the collection was completed, it was clear to our eye-for-style mom that an evergreen would not do these little gem-studded baubles justice. So, beginning that year, we moved the pine to the family room, and the aluminum tree was retired to Christmas tree heaven. With a pine in the family room, the holiday theme evolved with Mom's decor and eventually was covered with old-fashioned St. Nicks, Christmas plaid bows, and little baskets filled with baby's breath. A beautiful, nostalgic sight.
In the meantime, a white flocked tree found its way into our home and, bedecked with the handmade jeweled ornaments, became the tradition in our living room. The hues in this room were copper and bronze, and this snow-covered tree was a stunning sight to behold. It was once again perfect for the room it embellished. It was formal and unique, and, in addition to the hundreds of very, very, very long straight pins, signified as much love as there was time spent creating it.
Some years, a third tree was placed in Mom and Dad's bedroom. This smaller tree was dressed in Victorian-style refinement, and was positioned perfectly to be seen by anyone traveling down our long hallway. There was one spot in our home where all three trees could be seen at the same time. Three trees, three different themes. Each in its own way reflected the Colors of Christmas.
The Music
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Mom loved Christmas so much that every July she'd play holiday music just to renew her spirit. Once the season was in full swing, Christmas music of all kinds could be heard playing in our home most of the day and well into the night.
Mom and Dad each had a favorite song or two, and while they would sing along, the way in which they sang was indicative of their respective personalities. The timbre of Mom's melodic voice soared through our home. "Fall on your knees, oh hear the angels' voices ... O Niiiiii-iiight Divine...." Just as Christmas was ever present, so was Mom's beautiful voice. It not only filled our home, it also filled our car when traveling -- a habit that has now been carried on by 2 more generations.
Dad, on the other hand, would sing quietly under his breath as he puttered about his castle. His non-holiday favorite was "Mares Eat Oats." Now for years -- and we're talking more than a dozen -- the three of us thought the lyrics to that song were "Mares dee dotes and does dee dotes, and little lambs dee divy. A kiddle dee divy, too, wouldn't you?" We had no idea there were real words to this song that actually made sense. In fact, we thought Dad made this one up. Dad was the first to admit his singing wasn't the best, but the sound of his gentle "mares dee dotes" meant that, as one who traveled the world, there was nowhere else on earth he'd rather be than at home with his family.
During the Christmas season, Dad's cadences of "mares dee dotes" were replaced by "I played my drum for Him, Ba rum pa bump bum. I played my best for him, ba rum pa bump bum, rum pa bump bum, rum pa bump bum . . ." Even in the dissonance of his singing, there was nothing sweeter than hearing Dad chant those words. This time, it not only meant he was home, it meant he was home for Christmas.
In hindsight, it's interesting to note that Mom and Dad both chose a favorite Christmas song that is reflective of the faith that accompanied their upbringing. The individual selections were indicative, too, of their personalities. And, once again, together they created a perfect combination of all that is the season: "Hear the angels' voices . . . ba rum ba bump bum." Joy and faith, celebration and humility. The Colors of Christmas.
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The Gifts
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Under the living room and family room trees were dozens of gifts. Mom shopped and crafted all year long for Christmas. Gift giving became so involved that Mom devised a system of numbering the back of each gift and logging by number the name of the recipient and contents of the gift. Much to our chagrin, there were no gift tags. And every year as gift exchange commenced, Mom would unveil a black 5" x 7" binder containing her very highly guarded Christmas gift list.
When we lived in the south bay, our Christmas presents were wrapped in newspaper Dad brought from Japan, and each was tied in Christmas red ribbon. This unique and op-art theme (remember, it was the 1960s), of course, worked beautifully with the decor Mom had assembled in the living room: black and white upholstery, black and blond woods, and gray carpet. Japanese newsprint was a brilliant idea for wrapping paper, and red ribbons were the perfect holiday compliment. In our Marin home, Mom wrapped our gifts in shiny white shelving paper. Since the color schemes were different in each room, gifts under the snow-flocked tree in our living room were tied in beautiful bronze ribbons and red bows were used in the family room.
Mom's parents were immigrants from Ireland and were both laborers in San Francisco. Money was scarce when Mom and her sisters were growing up, so, with all the opportunities Dad's salary afforded our family, Mom was budget-minded yet generous when it came to Christmas gifts. The list in the little black binder usually topped 100 gifts. As young ladies, the three of us were dazzled by the beauty, in awe of the generous quantity, and curious about the contents of every single gift.
One year when it was extremely difficult for us to wait even one more day to open our presents, we playfully hounded our parents to please open just one gift on Christmas Eve. "Please?" We'd continue to beg, "Pleeeaaaase?!" We were ecstatic when our parents agreed, but the rule was that Mom would pick the gift we could open. She went to the tree in the family room, picked up three gifts from beneath the lowest bough, then handed one to each of us. There were block-like in shape, and they had a hefty weight to them. We were so very excited and proceeded to open the little brick to find a delightful variety of Lifesavers packaged in a charming little book-like box. The book was entitled "Holiday Book of Lifesavers." We politely thanked our parents and our suspense was satisfied until Christmas morning.
The following year, we remembered that our parents had agreed to let us open just one gift on Christmas Eve, so we took the chance to ask again. Our request was received with some hesitancy, but Mom and Dad recalled the precedent set the previous year and succumbed again to our request. We were allowed to open just one gift, but the same rule applied, so Mom chose the three gifts. She repeated her trip to the tree and handed to each of us a gift that felt vaguely familiar. We unwrapped the package to find another edition of "Holiday Book of Lifesavers."
Besides all the wrapped gifts from Mom and Dad, Santa brought a major item or two. One year, a hall closet was cleared out, wallpapered with a graffiti design, and converted into a phone booth. We had our own phone number, a place to sit, and privacy was suggested in the form of half a Dutch door and groovy 1970s hanging beads. We were in our early teens that year, and the popularity of the phone in our household was about to spike through the roof. In an era when cordless and cell phones were not even a twinkle in Santa's eye, this gift was brilliant and original and so much fun! That phone booth was in our home for years, and, because of the clever way it was wallpapered, our friends were welcome to add to the graffiti by "signing" anywhere they chose on the walls. Each of us spent many an hour in that phone booth talking at length with girlfriends and boyfriends.
The "just one gift" ceremony became tradition, and so did the annual "Holiday Book of Lifesavers." Later in our teens, the plea to open one gift on Christmas Eve changed in tone to a jaded, but light-hearted, "Can we open our Lifesavers now?" We loved those lifesavers. Every kind you could name was in that box. And every color, too. Our lifesavers were the Colors of Christmas.
The Lights
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Come Christmas morning, the gift opening was as thrilling as the anticipation building from Thanksgiving weekend. This event, in and of itself, was nothing less than ceremonious. Our living room floor became a sea of discarded wrapping paper and bows, and it was actually fun to lose our balance attempting to delicately tip-toe over a stack of gifts in brand new fluffy slippers. When our grandparents arrived Christmas morning, the jovial greeting that became another tradition was, "Well it must be Christmas at the Hanna household!" And it certainly was.
The celebration soon became a clean-up party where we would sort for Dad "burnable" and "non-burnable" paper. The beautiful ribbons and bows were gathered and given to Mom, who efficiently stored them away in a closet to adorn other gifts the following year. It didn't take very many years of this ritual for Dad to devise a clean-as-you-go program. Prior to opening any gifts, Dad gave to each of us a brown paper bag so we could deposit directly into the bags all the discarded wrapping paper. Dad would then carefully burn the the bags in our fireplace. Reflective of the joy in our hearts, our fireplace crackled and popped with glee most of the day.
Because of Dad's career as an officer in the merchant marines, and much to our heartbreak, he wasn't home for many a Christmas. The years he was home are the ones we remember the most clearly. It must have been so difficult for Mom to go through the motions of a full production knowing Dad would not be home for Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. Yet she did it. We never felt from one Christmas to the next any difference in her spirit for the season. It certainly must have bothered her as much as it bothered Dad not to be home with us on such a special holiday.
One particular year stands out because Dad was supposed to be home about three or four days after Christmas. Mom and the three of us decided to put Christmas on hold until Dad got home. How hard could it be to wait just a few more days? The ship's schedule was delayed, delayed again, and delayed a third time. But throughout, we were committed to "saving Christmas for Dad." By the time he arrived home, it was mid-February. Inside our home, it still looked like Christmas Eve. Ever elf and angel remained in his or her place, dozens of wrapped gifts were untouched, and even our trees were still postured for the celebration to begin. We had a wonderful Christmas that year. None of us remembers a single gift we received. We only remember that we had waited for Dad to be home with us for Christmas. What could possibly be more important?
There as a story Mom once told us about a Christmas when Dad was away at sea. In the middle of a dark ocean on a ship full of men who hardly knew each other, Dad wanted to somehow observe the Christmas. He wanted to acknowledge the holiday because it was a special time for him and his family. And he wanted to acknowledge Christmas for a crew of men who were all away from their families, too. Dad was sailing as Chief Engineer on this particular trip and thought it would be a great idea to string Christmas lights on the deck of the ship on Christmas Eve night. A quiet celebration that might lift the spirits of the sea-bound crew. As protocol dictated, the Chief had to first get clearance from the Captain of the ship. That shouldn't be a problem, but the captain did not agree to the idea, so no lights were strung on the deck of the ship.
Christmas passed that year unacknowledged by the men on board that vessel. Each had no family, no tree, no gift, no music, no lights. This story upset Mom a great deal. Dad wasn't asking for very much at all. He just wanted to see lights. That's all. Lights. He just wanted to see the Colors of Christmas.
The Love
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Tradition comes in the form of savory indulgences, too, and we certainly had our favorite Christmas treats. Each year, with Christmas music constantly playing on our stereo and her beautiful singing voice filling our home, Mom would spend hours creating in her kitchen delectable delights. Our dining room table was laden with home baked cookies, cakes, and fudge -- all labors of Mom's love. When Dad was home in late-November, he completed all the repairs that needed to be done before the holiday celebrations began. And, while singing under his breath "ba rum ba bump bum," he made certain lights were strung around the roof of our house. It was a very merry time for us all.
In this fast-paced world, we are in awe now of how hard Mom and Dad worked throughout the year and during the days that neared Christmas to lavish us with such wonderment. We learned so much from our parents, and, as a result, there is much for us to teach.
This is our message to our children: May you always be surrounded by Love and Spirit so you too will come to cherish as many wonderful Christmas memories as we have had the pleasure to know. Please do everything within your individual and collective power to continue the legacy.
And, although they are not physically with us today, this is our message to our parents: Thank you for so much love and for teaching us how to Give. We miss you most this time of year. It should come as no surprise to those who knew you, but is truly amazing to realize, that even the colors of your birthstones -- the red of July's ruby and the green of May's emerald -- together make the Colors of Christmas.
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So there you have it, a peek into our Christmases Past. These memories were also shared to illustrate how Sherryl became the person she is today. She has Mom's bright-eyed enthusiasm for personally connecting with everyone she meets, her unconditional love for every child who exists in this universe, and her innate ability to create, with or without resources, absolute magic. And, besides having his beautiful brown eyes and rich complexion, she has Dad's soft-spoken playful demeanor, his ability to work hard and laugh often, and his commitment to quietly honor that which should be honored. We are so very lucky to have this combination of qualities and traits wrapped into a single human being who is called by so many "RaRa."
Please enjoy below one of our very favorite family photographs, followed by Sherryl's favorite Christmas song. And from our family to yours,
Merry, Merry Christmas!
Christmas 1962 ~ Left to right: Sherryl, Dad, Arleen, Nadine, and Mom
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