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Him & Her:
The 365 Days of
Christmas
by Nancy and Dan Sapir
HE
SAYS: I know it’s only August
but we she has been gearing up for Christmas since the 26th of December
last year. First, it begins with the "50% Off" sales. Into the
guest room come ornaments, wrapping paper, bows, tags and holiday table
clothes, napkins and cups. She says that all these items will put her way
ahead of the 2002 shopping frenzy and claims. It’s the little details that always drive you
nuts in the closing days of
Christmas.
Next comes the parade of children’s
clothes, game boards, videos, books and other items. We have five
grandchildren now so you can begin to appreciate the cost here. She
accumulates these things over many months of sales. Naturally she wraps up
everything from her vast reserves of packaging stock and begins the
process of piling things up. At this point it’s time to get little items
for our four children. Since the kids are all grown, we all entered into a
Secret Santa pact.
This plan was supposed to make the holiday more cost effective. She says
that’s all very true, but "we have to buy something small for each
of our children". She forgets that small can also be expensive.
So add presents for the adult kids and naturally the boyfriends,
girlfriends, wife and husband and you have an escalating buildup of more
presents.
I am convinced that nobody has a larger list of friends then her, and
that’s only half the story. She includes their parents and siblings on
her shopping list. The woman gets along with everybody. She also seems to
know what everybody wants or needs. She creates gigantic lists and spends
eight months whittling it down. If she buys something that costs more for
one person, she has to add another gift for the other because she says she
can’t buy more for one then another. Every now and then she notices that
somebody suddenly appears with an item that she has already bought for
them. She then finds somebody else that could use that item and scurries
around for a replacement gift. That guest room is really filling up by
now. God forbid we actually had to use the room.
She even provides gifts for people she’s never even met. All year she
knits mittens and crochets Afghans for her favorite charities. She says
she can just picture folks wearing a pair of nice warm gloves or wrapped
up in one of her "cozy" afghans. She calls me Santa’s Helper
because I pay for the yarn and ship the things from my office. I never
thought of myself as Santa’s Helper, and I’m not really sure that I
am. My role seems to be providing the money and the delivery service. You
must have to do more then that to qualify for such a title. People ask me,
"Where’s Nancy". She’s stashed away huddled across from the
air conditioner in summer or next to the fireplace in winter setting new
records in skein devouring.
After living all year with the North Pole salted away in our guest room,
we get near to the big day. That can only mean one thing. Cookies. She
believes that presents are fine, but that special people must be given
something special. Special means that she has to make it and it must be
something to eat. Cookies. Every variety on earth gets crammed on special
trays she bought 10 months ago from the Christmas Tree Shop. And they must
look "festive". Not just the pastries but the presentation as
well. The trays must be elegant in a "festive" way and she
covers the trays with colored Saran Wrap that they must produce just for
Christmas. She completes the picture with a spectacular bow. Once again
"festive". Once again she resurrects Santa’s Helper to deliver
the edible gifts and I hit my appointed rounds until all are delivered.
Once again, I start counting up just how much it costs me to achieve
"festive". The worst part is I’m not allowed to eat a single
cookie. "What if I run out" she bellows. The woman could feed
Northeast Asia but I can’t snag one cookie. Occasionally, she burns one,
my treat for the day.
Finally, they big day arrives and it seems to be over in a flash. Lying in
bed that night it seems the day went by in a blur. The kids and their
mates are gone, the grandchildren are at their own homes all tucked in,
the cookies are all delivered, and people, somewhere fall asleep with a
warm gift from Kingston.
She looks exhausted from her 12 months of Christmas ordeal. I look at the
sale papers checking out where the 50% sales are on Christmas items, start
fussing about the money it all costs and sink into my pillow thinking what
a privilege it has been to  be Santa’s Helper. I think that is her gift to
me… and that one cost nothing.
SHE SAYS: Being Santa’s helper has its rewards. When he
travels around delivering baskets everyone invites him in for a little
something. He returns home fat as a tick from all the cheer and goodies
he’s consumed from as far away as Pembroke.He likes Christmas. He’s
even composed his own version of carols.
To the tune of Oh Christmas Tree:
Oh, Christmas tree, oh
Christmas tree I’m Jewish;
-- I’ve no need for thee.
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree
-- You look much better planted.
I’m tired of bills; my right hand aches
From writing checks and drinking eggs.
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree
-- I like you better planted.
To the tune of Jingle Bells:
Jingle bills, jingle bills,
jingle all the way
All my money took a ride and left this town today
Hey! Jingle bills, jingle bills, jingle all the way
Rodney brings them to our house for me to try & pay. Hey!
Funny he should bring up Christmas now because I’m starting to assemble
the ingredients for my cookies and hors d’oevres. On October 1 the
baking begins. The kitchen will fill with the wonderful aroma of cookies
and little quiche and he only has to wait three months to try them. I put
everything in the freezer and I count them. I keep watch over the top row
of everything in case he tries to outwit me. Fat chance. I use see-through
containers so I can check the sides for any signs of a disturbance in the
wax paper between each row of stuff. If he can infiltrate my security
systems, he deserves a cookie.
What really annoys him at Christmas is that Mr. Loring, Sr., a dashing
ninety-something and our former water czar, corresponds with me during
this happy season. Mr. Loring says he loves to make him jealous, and he
does. One year I sent a card that said, "We’re not getting any
younger, Mr. Loring. You better think about my Christmas kiss." Mr.
Loring wrote back and said, "The boat has left the dock." In any
case, I’m always grateful to Mr. L for making him turn green.
People always say we should keep the spirit of Christmas alive all year
long, and that’s what I try to do. In July, when my enthusiasm starts to
wane a bit, I have coffee in my Christmas mugs and I watch "A
Christmas Carol" and "It’s a Wonderful Life" to get the
feeling back. Boy, does that work well! I did that a few weeks ago and
I’ve completed four sweaters since then I wish he’d just graciously
accept the fact that Christmas costs money because he’s going to get a
pinched nerve from shaking his head every time I walk in with a gift.
It’s like he’s programmed to shake the head while asking,
"Who’s that for now?" and "How much?" I never tell
him the truth. He’d just keel over dead, and who needs that at
Christmas. He concludes the ritual with more shaking of the head and a
throwing up of the arms accompanied by a loud sigh of disgust. This is
what I call "The Dance of Pain". I think he saw John Hamilton do
it once, and he figured maybe he could be rich if he did it too.
Now, of course, during the year there are family birthdays and occasions
which demand the giving of gifts. Last June, when I got our oldest
daughter her birthday present he was mad because he said I’d just bought
her a gift for Christmas.
I love Christmas and I don’t regard it as work. He, on the other hand,
knows that Christmas makes other happy, so he shlepps, and buys, and pays,
and mails and delivers even though he doesn’t love it, and where I come
from, that makes him the better person.
by Nancy and Dan Sapir
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