On the Twelfth Day of a Feminine Christmas

This young woman reminds me of a Grace Livingston Hill heroine.  Maybe it's because of the lovely church in the background.  Grace's protagonists were all believers.  If the old Victoria magazine had lasted long enough, I'm sure it would have found Livingston-Hill a worthy subject for its marvelously feminine periodical.  I can only imagine the clothes they would have put the models in:  fur-trimmed wool suits, floral dresses with rustling skirts...I could go on.

Every year I take a peek at Victoria's book, "A Woman's Christmas".  I've used it as a mini-journal, recording various details about my Christmas'.  Yesterday I found a sentimental entry I wrote a few years ago and I'm going to share it here.

~

"I get misty and giddy when I think of all the happy holidays I had at Nana's, the wonderful little things my mother did for us, the neighbors we always visited on Christmas Eve, the majesty of our Catholic church, the carols I sang my heart out with the Girl Scouts.  All these things were part of my childhood and they live on inside of me...

Then there were the years with HIM.  I decorated our houses with abandon and had the money to do it.  Those trees and homes live on inside too.  As well as the small teddy bear he gave me one Christmas morning with the pearl earrings I still wear today pierced into its furry little ears.  And the challenging but glorious years I was a young single mother of the most darling little girl.  She sang in the choir at church, made cookies with me in her bunny slippers and I especially cherish the Christmas morning she pulled her first real doll out of the box and exclaimed with awe, 'She looks just like me, Mommy!'  I hold dear the day I took my good friend Karen to Orchard House the week before Christmas and watched her face from the sidelines as she first laid eyes on Louisa May Alcott's wreathed front door.  All these Christmas memories may live on Yesterday's shelf but they are a part of me for always.

And my reminiscences of yore, in no way means that I am closed off to the bright new gifts of the future.  I have more Christmas' in store for me.  And as I await them, I know the real spirit dwells within...alongside the memories."  ~ December, 2010

~

Merry Christmas!

On the Eleventh Day of a Feminine Christmas

This illustration is feminine Christmas at its best.  Her chic red dress and winter-white coat make a beauty mark on the snowy landscape.  But it's her serene and peaceful face that brings the real grace to the image.

Yesterday I was feeling pretty full of myself - my packages are wrapped, my baking is all laid out, and I planned everything so I didn't have to leave the house today.  But on the way to dinner last night, the car slowed to a stop in front of a bus stop near the restaurant where I was to have supper.  Since I was a passenger in the car, my eyes scanned for a long while at the bleak grey shelter where riders sat to wait for buses.  Standing in the cold were a man and woman who were obviously together.  I wondered for a moment where they were going outside the city and surmised they had both left their jobs and were heading home.  They were nearly elderly and looked tired.  As we sat in traffic, I saw the woman take a single powdery donut from a paper bag and heartily bite into it with her back towards the street.  Then she turned and gave the rest to the man.  I was close enough to recognize the paper bag from a bakery about 3 blocks away - a long walk with dual crossing lanes in heavy traffic to the bus stop.

Now I know nothing about the couple at the bus stop and everything I have written is supposition.  Yet somehow, I felt a tenderness for the pair and wondered what their Christmas would be like.  All through dinner, I couldn't stop thinking about them sharing that donut in the dreary bus stop surrounded by trucks and car horns and exhaust fumes.  And it made me wonder if I had done enough this season for others.  I was involved in making baskets for an organization that helps families and I contributed to a Secret Santa drive at work but I could have done more.  And while I ate my meal, I thought about that too.

Last night I found a local church that is still accepting donations of canned goods.  Today I am doing a market run for them.  I've already talked to the woman who runs the program and since I've been to the church before I plan on finding out what kind of outreach they do the rest of the year too.  It's the least I can do and it's pitiful.

I have made some other suppositions regarding the picture I chose for this post.  I have concluded that the lovely lady's face in my Christmas image comes from knowing deep inside that she made a small difference this season.  As she runs off in the snow in her head band of holly and ivy to whatever festivities she has planned, she knows she did her best.  And that's why she's so beautiful.

On the Tenth Day of a Feminine Christmas

This woman hasn't quite finished her shopping yet.  I felt like her yesterday as I finally crossed the last person off my list.  I'm curious, do you buy as much as you used to?  I don't.  I no longer believe in going overboard at Christmas but I do spend a lot of time thinking about the right gifts for those I love.

I delight whenever I come across a list of Christmas gifts in a novel. Many diarists documented their presents too.  And generally, their accounts were of humble things such as a box of chocolates, a journal, hair combs, etc.  Their tallies remind me it's not the amount of money you spend or the size of the gift, but the care and consideration that went into its selection.  And not surprisingly, those are the kinds of things I want to find under my tree too.

~

So many of you have emailed me to ask for my grandmother's pudding recipe.  Consider it my Christmas gift to you.  And a big thank you for your lovely comments.  I always find the female perspective on Christmas to be a unifying thing.


Chocolate Bread Pudding with Hard Sauce

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

4 oz baking chocolate - preferably semi-sweet
2-1/2 cups whole milk
2 eggs
3/4 cups sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons butter
1 loaf stale white bread, cubed

Butter well an over-proof casserole
Add bread cubes

Melt chocolate in milk
Scald
Add butter - stir and take off burner

Beat eggs until foamy
Add sugar
Add vanilla

Pour chocolate milk over bread cubes
Add sugar, egg mixture
Mix well

Place casserole in shallow pan of water
Bake 50 minutes to 1 hour

Hard Sauce

Mix 1 stick of softened butter with 1-1/2 cups confectionery sugar and a drop of vanilla
Sprinkle nutmeg on top
Refrigerate until hard

Serve pudding individually with dollops of hard sauce

On the Ninth Day of a Feminine Christmas

The cover of this Seventeen has effervescent colors and a darling imaginary tree.  It is dated 1956, a time when Christmas meant formals and ballgowns.  I especially like the soft cream colored one on the left with the pretty green bow.  The dress reminds me of Anne Shirley's Christmas dress with her beloved puffed sleeves - the one that Matthew gave her.  However, wearing shorter sleeves and sweetheart necklines were part of the charm of a formal dress in the 50's.

I attended a small party last Saturday night and typically, the attire was informal.  I noticed that the women did add a little panache to their leggings and tunics with fanciful shoes and sparkly necklaces. The clothing was merely a backdrop for ornamental accessories.  But I think some of the fun in going to a large dance or formal is the chance to fret over and then select the perfect dress to wear.  A high school boyfriend called the girls' formal dresses "whoopee dresses".  I never realized how important a dress was to a man's imagination until then.  Somehow, it makes me long for those fussy important dresses and the events to wear them to.

Recently I was flipping through dress images on Pinterest when a friend stopped me at a sapphire blue silk number.  "Stop..stop", he said.  "The blue one?", I asked.  "Yes", he replied, "My mother had a dress that color".  And then softly, "I never forgot that dress.  She wore it to a Christmas party".  I asked him how old he was at the time and he replied, "Maybe five".

Nearly sixty years later, he was still able to recall his mother in a sapphire blue Christmas dress...

On the Seventh Day of a Feminine Christmas

It's hard to believe that at one time a bottle of Chanel #5 perfume could be purchased at the local drugstore for about $5.00.  Today I would love to at least see more of the romantic ads that accompanied those low prices.

In the 1950's, Chanel advertised its famous perfume with bewitching prints ads and simple prose to stir the heart of every Chanel-loving maven.  I am particularly drawn to the Christmas ones showing young couples such as the pair above.  She is clearly happy with the thoughtful gift of such an iconic scent.  "When he knows what you want without even hinting...When his gift shows he knows".  Apparently smart men bought Chanel #5.

Perfume is a very personal choice and yet there is something charming about a man who seeks to buy his beloved her most favorite fragrance.  I know something about that because I once worked at a perfume counter during the holidays.  It was a little awkward when a man came shuffling in to ask for something he knew almost nothing about in a place he was so uncomfortable with.  But it was sweet too.  So we sales gals went out of our way to make our male buyers comfortable and to assure them that their gift would be just-right.  We wrapped the perfume in shiny gold paper and tied it with a red ribbon and bow too.  I loved watching them walk away with the small Christmasy package in their big hands.

The time of year when the world falls in love is the perfect time for the gift of a cherished perfume.

On the Fifth Day of a Feminine Christmas

As a lullaby, I often sang "Away in a Manger" to my daughter and not just at Christmas.  It was the only song I could sing on key and the melody is slow enough that I could do it with nary a croak and even whisper it softly when necessary.   Of course, she has no memory of this but in the car last week, she turned the volume up during a beautiful Julie Andrews' rendition.  "I just love this carol", she said looking at the dark road ahead as she drove me home from our Christmas shopping trip.  I told her I used to sing the carol to her as a babe but said nothing more about it.  I have to temper my "Mom" memories because they can be so ridiculously sentimental and sappy and I don't want to overwhelm her - she's young and practical and cannot yet know the strong feelings a new mother has for her baby.  They'll be plenty of time for that when she has a child of her own.  I have no doubt...

My daughter was born three weeks early on a crystalline Epiphany.  Our holiday out-of-state company had stayed until that very eve and when they departed, I thought how nice it was that I still had three weeks to pack a bag for the hospital, launder the new baby clothes we received for Christmas, and cook and freeze some meals.  Best laid plans cannot trump a baby that wants to be born.

It was an icy and blustery ride to the hospital and every nurse that entered my room commented on the wintry weather outside the narrow slit of a window I had.  Of course, the weather was of little concern to me but a frosty January night still has the power to tickle an internal thrill from that wondrous Epiphany.

And just as my daughter called recently for my grandmother's chocolate bread pudding recipe that I make every Christmas Eve, I know one day she will want to know the name of the lullaby I sang to her.  And it will be an epiphany that nudges her - a sudden pleasant insight into something long past.  I have no doubt...

On the Fourth Day of a Feminine Christmas

This young wife is buying the traditional male gift of a handsome tie.  There is just something about a man in a suit and tie especially if he knows how to stand and comport himself.  But it's becoming a rare thing to see a man dressed up these days and so a beautiful silk tie is not the easy choice for Christmas that it used to be.

I once read some interesting advice about buying for the men in one's life - go simple but go volume.  In other words, if you buy socks, buy lots of them.  Ditto beef jerky.

It was easy to buy for my brother until recently.  As a mail carrier he was always in need of high-tech neck warmers, ear muffs, and band-aids for his work-worn fingers.  Lots and lots of band-aids.  Now he has been promoted to a desk job but alas, ties are still not part of his wardrobe.  My brother-in-law (the beef jerky connoisseur) is eating healthy these days and is loving tea.  That's a gift I know something about.

As women we might ask the age-old question in reverse, "What do men really want?"  I'm pretty sure they want the same thing we do:  small thoughtful gifts that show we care.

On the Third Day of a Feminine Christmas

The fur on my hooded jacket softly tickled my neck on a long and dark drive home from work last week.  I found it oddly comforting as I hadn't worn a hat that day and the temperatures had dropped to bone-chilling levels while I toiled all day at my computer.  I thought of Dr. Zhivago's wife Tonya in her white hooded fur coat as she rode with her beloved Yuri to their ice house in the Russian forest.

Last year I bought myself a simple wool jacket in a deep plum hue.  But it's the tone-on-tone fur trim I love so much.  It makes me feel both glamorous and romantic.  It's a little bit of chic after work or after a long session of shopping and wearing the hood as I dash into a store, makes me regret not having a hat a lot less.

Fur-trimmed coats are such dreamily quixotic garments - they evoke the allure and grandeur of Gilded Age ladies as they stepped from carriages onto glacial city streets and Victorian ladies who rode in horse-drawn sleighs and traversed over the river and through the woods to visit neighbors and friends on Christmas Day.

So many of today's down coats now feature fur-trim not only because it's chic but it also gives extra protection from wind and cold.  It's especially festive to wear fur-embellished coats, jackets, and capes during the holiday season.  Is there a more perfect time of year for a bit of romance and fantasy?

On the Second Day of a Feminine Christmas

Every Christmas morning after the mad unwrapping was over, my mother presented my grandmother with her annual Christmas corsage.  It always came in a snow-white florist box with a clear plastic cover.  We were lucky in that we had a flower shop right on the street where we lived.  I don't remember running that errand for my mother but I do know my grandmother's corsage, a gift from her only child, was sacrosanct.  

The image of this young miss melted my heart.  Her age, her purity and the simple pleasure of selecting the most perfect corsage to pin on her wool coat no doubt had her imagining the young lady who would soon be looking back at her from the glass.  It also reminded me of the corsages we made in school as well as the brightly crafted dime-store variety that could be bought all over town.  They never rivaled the beauty my grandmother pinned on each Christmas morning but they were every bit as expressive in their intent.

Christmas and flowers just seem to go together - the poinsettia, the rose and the astonishing Star of Bethlehem - all connote the deeper significance of the nativity.  I say we bring the Christmas corsage back...for all the right reasons.

On the First Day of a Feminine Christmas

No matter how far away you roam...there's no place like home for the holidays ~ Perry Como

~

I love the moody darkness of this illustration.  And this was me tonight as I tried to find a spot to anchor my wreath in the cold dusky twilight.  I debated whether or not to put a small nail hole in my new front door.  I waited a long time for this door and painstakingly chose its color - Velvet Rope - a deep Delphinium-blue that even the painters got excited about.  In the end, I nailed it under the lantern and left the door pristine and perfect.

There really is no place like home for the holidays and more and more I am reading about "hygge", the Danish phrase that represents the notion of living with profound contentment.  Many of the concepts of hygge are things I am already quite familiar with and have written about on this blog.  

But I will take it a step further and say that being at home for Christmas is particularly rewarding and full of hygge opportunities for women.  As we set the Christmas stage for loved ones, it's important to remember the Dane's approach to wellness and deep comfort.  I am certain the lady of the house in our illustration has a warm bath, cozy slippers and an absorbing book waiting for her - just as soon as the last pretty ornament is hung on her tree.  

On the Ninth Day of a Feminine Christmas

This is one of my favorite feminine Christmas images which I clipped from a British Vogue many years ago.  I apologize for the quality but perhaps you will understand why I saved the picture if I describe what I see in it.  It's really very pretty.

Our lovely model is wearing a beautiful and simple silk nightgown.  The fire is keeping her feet warm and so, she isn't wearing slippers or a robe for that matter.  A quilt has been tossed to the side in case that changes.  Her tea is at the ready, stacked on some ancient books.  It's Christmas Eve.

The picture was a vignette of images called "Portrait of a Lady" which shows the same model decorating her tree and performing other rituals leading up to the holiday.  But what I see here is a woman at peace, contemplating the season and all it means to her.   This may actually be the first time she has had time to stop, slow down and spend time in front of a tree that twinkles like the infinite night sky outside. Perhaps she is missing loved ones who come to back to life at Christmas as thoughts trail back to the past.

I recently read an article written by a young mother who said she is so exhausted when Christmas day finally comes that it is just one big relief.  But she coined a phrase called "Twixtmas", the meaning of which I have now embraced fully.  Twixtmas represents the period of time between Christmas and New Year's when most of the world slows down if only for a bit.  Without realizing it, I have been honoring Twixtmas for several years.

I make it a point to save vacation days between the holidays for sleeping late, recovering from holiday stress, and to have long stretches of reading and resting.  It is my way of balancing the giving with the receiving.  I give myself a present of uninterrupted time at home.  I rarely go anywhere except to take a walk if it isn't snowing or to pick up grocery items at the market.  I say no to most invitations until at least New Year's Eve.  I find Twixtmas to be a magical optimistic fragment of time that I protect and treasure.  Life suspends in midair and becomes otherworldly.

Twixtmas is also a time of sensory delights - the frost, the darkness, the flicker of candles, flowers and music.  I find my soul speaks louder when the world quiets and my intuition and instincts begin communicating with me.  I don't seem to connect as readily with old grief and worry because I hear my resourceful inner voice again.  My friends have told me that Twixtmas has helped some of their family members who have been scattered, dissipated or struggling with illness and sadness.

If you crave more down time after the holiday rush, I recommend the practice of Twixtmas.  Set aside time to cultivate a part of your busy life that inspires stillness and peace and together we will wait out the darkness with tea, firelight, quietude, and silk nightgowns.

On the Eighth Day of a Feminine Christmas

This lady is bringing Christmas to someone, at least it appears so since a tree is her passenger.  I always have Christmas Eve at home with family and some friends.  Sometimes there is a new addition as there was this year, a new beau of a friend.  He enlivened the conversation and fit right in.  The weather wasn't fitting in though with its oddly balmy temperatures and it was the topic on and off all night.  I have to admit the fogginess and mild temperatures threatened to steal my spirit but the moon was full this Christmas Eve, a rarity.  We could just see it through the mist.

I may have looked a bit like our tree carrier yesterday, as I drove to my sister's in my little red car, packed with food and gifts.  There were new guests at her house too, and it really added some seasoning to our day.  I was happy to spend time in her beautiful home with my lovely niece and nephew - two young adults I don't see nearly enough of.

There was no need for a fire, but Debbie's mantel was filled with glowing lights and candles.  The roast was delectable, the wine flowed, and as always, we reminisced about those loved ones who live in our Christmas hearts.

In light of my last post on the feminine gifts of the holiday, I thought I would share mine:

~A small basket handbag for summer with leather straps
~An icy-pink cashmere sweater
~Notecards from Orchard House
~A hook for my powder room door made of crystals
~The newest Downton Abbey coffee table book
~A book on practicing yoga at home
~Three sets of earrings!
~French white bakeware

There were other gifts too and one that touched me deeply.  Three weeks ago, I dropped my phone in the toilet at Marshall's while Christmas shopping and was not able to resurrect it.  My new son-in-law bought me a new one with all the bells and whistles I need along with a plan I no longer have to pay for.  The money I save is spearheaded for my 401K.  Despite some hardships this year (attacking woodpeckers to name one) and some life changes (my daughter getting married and leaving home, ending an old job of 20 years and reinventing myself in a new one), I am truly blessed.

Share your feminine gifts with me if you like.  I'ld like to know!

On the Seventh Day of a Feminine Christmas

Jewelite was a type of plastic that was used for vanity items.  My grandmother had a lovely pink translucent Jewelite dresser set composed of a mirror, brush and comb.  The pretty trio was a Christmas gift from my grandfather sometime during the war years when silver was unobtainable. My grandmother cherished her set and it remained intact (even the comb) for the rest of her life.  I don't think she ever cared that it was not sterling.

I like to imagine the beautiful box of Jewelite under my grandparents Christmas tree in 1942. Feminine Christmas gifts always interest me and when I find a grouping of presents in literature, a diary or a film, I am always thrilled.  I mentioned in a recent post that Lee Leander in the marvelous Christmas movie, Remember the Night, received a crystal bottle of Hour of Ecstasy perfume but she also opened two other tissue-wrapped boxes which contained a sweet homemade pin cushion and a pair of dainty handknit bed slippers with delicate ribbon ties.  Simple offerings that were few in number, exquisite in quality, and pleasing on so many levels.

The first collection of presents that I became enamored with were of course, Marmee's in Little Women.  Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy each gave up their one dollar bills to buy their mother an assortment of feminine luxuries that must have been scarce during the bleakness of the Civil War.  I spent hours imagining Marmee's soft leather gloves, crimson slippers, bottle of cologne, and hemmed handkerchiefs and could see the items arrayed just so on the dining room table awaiting her wintry homecoming.  Are they not the things that any hard-working mother would prize?

Recently, I came across this in Nancy Mitford's romantic novel, The Pursuit of Love:

My presents (from my mother) were the envy of the entire household.  This year (she)...sent a fur hat and a gold and topaz bracelet, whose glamour was enhanced by the fact that Aunt Sadie considered it unsuitable for a child, and said so.

Beautiful and functional gifts...small luxuries to charm and inspire.

In the journal of Alice Stone Blackwell (1872-1874), Growing Up in Boston's Gilded Age, I discovered the following list on a December 25th entry:

~A beautiful necklace and bracelets of little pearly Venetian shells strung together with tiny beads
~A copy of Scott's poems
~A breast pin to match my sleeve buttons,
~A scrolled comb and some notepaper

Some of my favorite Christmas presents have been precious little things that don't necessarily cost a lot but invoke a sense of allure and grace.  These are the kinds of presents I love to give, too.

My grandfather may have wanted his wife to have a fancy ornate sterling silver dresser set.  Instead, he was able to give her something uncomplicated and elegant - decorous in simplicity, yet eminently useful.  And very, very pretty.

On the Sixth Day of a Feminine Christmas

I found myself with a tear in my eye on the way home from work yesterday, thanks to Sirius Radio's Holiday Traditions station.  Toyland, sung poignantly by Doris Day came on the radio and since I was trapped in a traffic jam, I had a chance to really listen to the lyrics.  Toyland was the very first movie my mother took us to and I recall that cold winter day well.  I had never been to a theater before and the screen was so big and the toy soldiers marched straight towards us from afar.

Soon my reveries turned to my big brother Peter and his manic love of Christmas.  He used to wake us at 5:00 am at Christmas' dawn and I well-remember the darkness and the excitement I felt in the pit of my belly.  We were practically shivering with delight by the time we made it to the living room, and anytime I happen to wake at dawn, - even today, I experience that Christmas feeling.

My brother loved his toys and my sister and I were often the recipients of his new Creepy Crawler set or toy gun.  We reciprocated by making him eat cake from our Easy Bake Oven.  I've never known anyone who enjoyed Christmas as much as my brother.  The run-up to the actual holiday was delightfully excruciating for him.  When I was very small, I asked him why we had Easter and quick as a wink, he replied "To hold us over until Christmas!"

But the words to the song tell us how fleeting childhood Christmases are - there are but a few of them and then suddenly, we are Santa to our own babes.  Mystic merry Toyland, childhood's Joyland...once you cross its border, you can never return again...

Find Doris Day's Toyland on youtube...you may see yourself and your siblings there, in between the words of its lilting refrain.

Us

On the Fifth Day of a Feminine Christmas

This is clearly an ad for a blanket.  But I love the cheery disarray of the bedroom, especially the wrappings and ribbons scattered about.  And how will she ever not step on that sweet little tea cup and saucer?  I really love her luxurious sweeping robe too.

I always put some thought into my nightclothes for Christmas.  My mother taught me to do that because so many pictures are taken on Christmas morning while opening gifts.  That's not the case in my house now...and I wouldn't allow it anyway.  But still, I like having new pajamas at Christmas and since a brand new son-in-law will be here, I feel I can't just wear any old thing.

For winter, there is nothing so cozy as a proper robe but I usually wear a long cashmere cardigan over my pajamas.  I love the feel against my shoulders and since I wear spaghetti-strapped pajama tops for comfortable cool sleeping, I need the warmth of a cozy sweater in the morning.  I noticed that a lot of designers, including Eileen Fisher, offer cashmere alternatives to robes and they make great cover-ups when the house is cold.  But mostly, I choose my nightwear just for me and it is still an important holiday consideration of mine.  Call me old-fashioned.

My grandmother gave me a flannel nightgown every year at Christmas.  I still remember some them:  red tartan, printed gold abstracts on a feminine bodice...and I remember one beautiful flannel nightie I bought for myself.  It was creamy white with a wide yoke filled with embroidered flowers.  I remember what it cost too:  $35 and that was a large sum for a new working girl.  That gown is immortalized in my head because of some pictures I have of me wearing it on Christmas morning that year.

Those were the days when nightclothes still mattered.  Lingerie departments were filled with luxe choices and saleswomen actually knew the merchandise and helped out.  Sleepwear and lingerie was a serious business.  Now the largest lingerie store is the local Victoria Secret which always looks to me like an adolescent boy is on the design staff.  I do most of my lingerie shopping online.  I know what I like and I know where to find it.

This year, I have selected a very pretty set of rose-colored flannel pants and matching sleeveless top.  The print is charming with birds and pinecones on branches which contrasts beautifully with the soft color and lace neck trim.  It didn't cost alot because I knew where to look and the exact moment to pounce.  I'll wear my new set with a white crocheted cashmere sweater and pink wool slippers.  I like to match on Christmas.  My grandmother would be proud.

I keep my "robes" across the end of my bed at night.  Someone told me I do that because I'm a lady and although it was a sweet compliment, it's just an old habit.  It's done in almost every vintage film I've ever seen.  I don't think I would take the time to put on robe and slippers if my house were on fire but I find it comforting to have these things close by.

PS:  if you have any Christmas lingerie wishes, I would love to hear about them.

On the Fourth Day of a Feminine Christmas

Love came down at Christmas,

Love was born at Christmas,

Love, all lovely, love divine, 

Stars and angels gave the sign

...Love shall be our token

Love be yours, and love be mine ~ Christina Rossetti

Those are some of my favorite Christmas stanzas.  Rossetti's poem is often referred to as a Christmas carol without a tune.  I love it because it is sweet and sincere and about the sweep of good feelings that often accompany Christmas morning "down the stairs".

The Christmas in the picture depicts a sweep down the stairs of festive boxed perfume sets, the kind of special combinations that perfume and cosmetic houses provide during the holiday season.  I especially like them because one can find coordinating scented products such as body creams and talcs - items that are sold separately at other times of year.  The collections are often boxed with beautiful Christmasy wrappings and sparkles.  But even a lone bottle of scent provides a lovely Christmas gift experience, especially if it's a beloved fragrance.

There is a marvelous scene in the Fred MacMurry and Barbara Stanwyck Christmas film, Remember the Night.  MacMurry's character, prosecutor John Sargent postpones the trial against Stanwyck's thieving Lee Leander because it's Christmas.  Instead, John takes Lee to his family's farmstead where Lee experiences a different kind of holiday than she is used to.  At gift opening time, John's kindly and intuitive mother, played lovingly by Beulah Bondi, gives Lee a bottle of the unopened perfume John had given her the Christmas before.  It is a touching cinematic moment when Lee opens the unexpected gift to find a lovely crystal bottle of Hour of Ecstasy perfume.  She inhales it deeply and gives no clue she knows the present is a re-gift.  Hard-scrabble Lee has not had too many no-strings-attached gifts in her life so I immediately start rooting for her and the budding love that is growing between she and John.  I pray John will be able to drop his lawyer stance and soften his heart for the beautiful kleptomaniac. But most of all, I hope that Lee will be able to receive honest love for the first time in her life and shrug off her tough and suspicious exterior.

A friend told me he still believes that love conquers all, even in today's world.  I cheer for John and Lee every Christmas in the hopes that what my friend knows will be played out on the screen before me again.  I sigh happily when the pretty bottle of Hour of Ecstasy breaks through Lee's icy pain and paves the way for love to come down at Christmas.  Stars and angels gave a scented sign.

On the Third Day of a Feminine Christmas

Without a winter coat during New England Christmastime, you'd surely freeze.  The first grown-up coat I ever bought myself looked very much like this lovely lady's.  It was a rich caramel-color with a luxuriously slippery coral lining.  Voluminous and toasty, it was very comforting, especially on the night I drove home during an epic blizzard.  But I never really thought of coats as comfort until I watched an episode of Joan River's reality show last year.  She had just finished a gig in Wisconsin in the dead of winter and was sitting in the back seat of a limo.  Suddenly, she shivered and then melted into her lush mink coat which enveloped her nearly to the point of disappearance.  A rapturous smile crossed her face.  I knew I had to find a new coat.

Fur was out of the question but I am not opposed to fur-trim or faux fur.  I knew I wanted something cozy and comfortable but it also had to meet my requirement of workday chicness and versatility.  It had to be wool and one that didn't show lint.  I realized I might need to spend a bit more for this dream garment and I was willing to do it.

My hunt didn't take long once an alert saleswoman pointed out that I was trying on the wrong size.  The reason why I never liked buying coats to begin with, is because the larger sizes give me way too much volume in the shoulders and chest even though the fit is perfect for the waist area.  I often sprang for smaller sizes that pulled in the torso but fit perfectly at the collar.  The saleswoman suggested I buy the larger size and consider spending extra money to have the shoulders, chest, and arms tailored.  Brilliant.

The coat I chose is a beautifully saturated eggplant-color in a loden wool.  It has an attached hood with dyed-to-match fox trim.  It looks great but more importantly, it makes me feel secure and protected from dropping temperatures and whatever precipitation falls from the sky.  It's comforting, and like Joan, I burrow down inside it on dark nights in the car as the fur trim gently brushes my cheeks.  I plan on taking good care of my investment piece.  As one gets older, special items like my coat seem to bestow enduring rewards.  Despite the fickleness of changing fashions, I am more and more reluctant to give up the things I really love for the latest models.  My sumptuous new winter coat will have its own legacy.  Definitely to be worn again and again.  Definitely forever.

On the Second Day of a Feminine Christmas

I just sent this picture to my daughter and wrote, "I am so sorry"... I was well into single parenting when this photograph was taken and I so wanted her to experience a wonder-filled and "normal" Christmas.  She did.  She just didn't like sitting on a strange man's lap.

We laugh about it now and many other things too, but being a lone parent during the holidays seemed a daunting challenge in those early years.  My first Christmas alone, when my daughter was just an infant, I wandered our big echoing house feeling very sorry for myself.  I worried about my future, my daughter's, where I would find work, daycare...time, energy.  I worried the gifts under the tree weren't enough even though my daughter was too young to care.  I realize now it was all the future Christmases that preoccupied me.  But hope came down the chimney that sad first year and I never forgot it.

While sitting before our little tree after having lit a fire by myself for the first time and while my daughter slumbered upstairs, I heard the garage door open.  The only person who had the other automatic opener was my mother.  I raced across the ice cold floors and yanked open the entry to the garage. Her borrowed car was filled with toys, food, and even a cord of firewood.  When she stepped out into the cold garage she said, "Santa came to my house by mistake".  I couldn't speak.  I bowed my head and wept.

Together we propped an old-fashioned doll in a petite wooden high chair and tucked her under the tree.  Nestled nearby was a new pull-sled for hauling baby and groceries which was a welcome gift in the snowy western-Massachusetts hill town where we lived.  There were also muffins for breakfast, orange juice and the aforementioned wood for burning.  Mom didn't stay long and we didn't talk much as we worked -  she had to come back the next morning for the great Baby's First Christmas unveiling, which would not be an easy maneuver for her.  I do remember she held me in her arms before she slipped back out to the garage.  I recall she looked deep into my eyes with a smile that said, "You can do this".  But it wasn't until I watched her snow-covered car disappear down the long driveway at nearly midnight that I realized her visit wasn't to deliver presents and goodies - she came because she didn't want me to feel alone.  And now, years and years later, I have also realized that on that dark first Christmas Eve alone, she gave me a gift that has stood the test of time...courage for the future.  And for a woman who excels at finding the perfect Christmas gift, it is still the best she ever gave.

On the First Day of a Feminine Christmas

This year my Christmas is being brought to me by Seventeen Magazine, or more specifically, the now-vintage Seventeens of my youth.  There is a certain breathless charm about the December issues that are delightfully filled with optimism and expectation.  For the girl who read Seventeen, anything was possible.  She could go to college, she could get a good job, she could make Manwich #53 and snag a cute boyfriend!

The Christmas issues are brimming with cheer and good times.  It is simply expected that a Seventeen girl would enjoy her holidays immensely with family and friends.  She could perhaps even handle a little spirituality.  Editor Enid Haupt's editorial often included non-secular wishes for her readers and heartfelt reminders to honor the true meaning of the holiday - something that I could never imagine in a magazine for today's young women.  Miss Haupt just naturally assumed that the Seventeen reader attended some sort of church and thus, cared deeply about her faith.

The Christmas layouts look like so much fun too, with groups of boys and girls dancing and laughing together.  There is a group camaraderie and a feeling of dating within a circle - trying out members of the opposite sex in an easy-going no-pressure, platonic way.  The ads are more romantic with couples paired off, and enjoying wholesome things such as getting caught in a rainstorm, picnicking together in a meadow, ice skating, or building a snowman.  There was an expectation that youth was prime-time for sorting through feelings, setting goals, playfully learning to be oneself in new and different ways.

There is also a sense that real beauty comes from within but can be helped along by homegrown self-care and pampering.  Seventeen advertised all the tools a Christmas beauty would need to get gorgeous on her own turf - hairdryers and facial steamers to be used right at the kitchen table, manicure kits and electric razors. There's plenty of perfume advertised for readers to give and to ask Santa for: Chanel 5, Ma Griffe, Ambush, Chantilly... The certainty that all girls liked these things is palpable. And whether it was really true or not, it makes me want to play Christmas Beauty Parlor right in the comfort of my own home this season.  Why spend $150 for the latest craze in facials when I can give myself one by following the example set out by Seventeen's engaging and adorable illustrations and artistry?

And the clothes...bright, colorful, feminine and full of cheer.  No little black dresses for our girls - they wear China red, blue velvet, gold, and bright Christmasy tartans.  Long skirts or minis with tights, their clothes still leave something to the imagination too.  But make no mistake:  Seventeen is not all buttoned-up Edwardian frocks - these are dresses with movement and a certain finesse - just minus the grasping-at-you cleavage and poured-in tightness.  The covers don't have celebrities in shivery bare-to-there evening dresses - clothes are refreshingly and gloriously season-appropriate.  You just know it's December inside.  The luminosity from a Seventeen Christmas doesn't come from scary over-blown makeup either (although skin and lips glow from Yardley Pot-O-Gloss and Revlon highlighting blush sticks) - but from the lifestyle the magazine promotes - respect for self, optimism for the future, and permission to revel all of the traditional ideals of the season.

Vintage Seventeen also presents Christmas as a time to give more than receive and there are many pieces about volunteerism and how to shop for special gifts for loved ones while preserving one's energy for the actual holiday.  And when a Seventeen girl is stuck at home during a snowstorm, she plays cards, bakes goodies, reads by the fire, or wraps presents - and she uses her time to help Mother whenever she can.  No idle hours texting or internet-surfing - Seventeen girls are fully-engaged members of the family.

While it's true that there is an orchestrated simplicity to the vintage Seventeen Christmas and the world today is far different and so depraved in many ways.  But I think the Seventeen girl knew that the world would continue to go on being the world and she believed with all her joyous trembling Christmas heart, that despite war and upheaval, there was still a place in it for her.  I believe too.

Starry, Starry Night

A few years ago for a time, I was bullied at work.  The day I returned from Christmas vacation that year, my boss asked me to meet her in the conference room.  I remember how happy I had been that morning - I was tranquil and rested from my time away, I had enjoyed a lovely holiday with my family, and I was joyfully anticipating the new year.  So happy was I, that when I dressed, I impulsively pinned a beautiful purple velvet flower to my grey workaday cardigan.

My boss began our meeting stating that someone had made some complaints about me.  The specifics don't matter here but they were lies.  And after, I couldn't get over the fact that while I was blissfully and ignorantly enjoying my vacation, someone was making trouble.  Suddenly, as I looked at my boss, things became crystal clear.  The weeks before I was increasingly bewildered by the behavior of a young woman in my office.  Oddly enough, I had something to do with her hiring and yet, she had begun to check my work.  At first, it was a distant bell but as I sat across that conference room table, the bell began to clang.  This young woman had my boss' ear because she was whip-smart, albeit destructive and maligning.  I often felt insecure around her and didn't know why.  And as many victims of bullies do, I felt a rush of humiliation.  As I sat there, I became acutely aware of my pinned flower.  And I felt foolish.

Sometimes I come across that velvety flower which I never wore again.  Now when I have the urge to adorn a sweater, I often reach for a sparkly brooch.  I am lucky to have a few of my grandmother's and I've added to my collection with pieces from antique shops and boutiques.  They are so wonderfully arresting, like dazzling stars in a dark winter sky.  And they have a nice retro appeal.  I think it  takes a special woman to wear an eye-catching brooch with ease - a woman who believes in herself enough to festoon her soul with something celestial and otherworldly.  A little luminous astral glint which marks her spot in the world and says, "Yes, I am someone to be seen.  And I am not foolish". 

Fortunately, the bully was eventually remanded and removed and I am not completely unhappy that it happened to me.  I learned a lot about myself and I toughened up.  I had been too trusting at work and certainly needed lessons in the vagaries of peoplehood - not everyone is kind. 

My sister gave me a sparkly midnight blue pin and it looks just like one in the picture above.  It reminds me of the astonishing night sky.  And just as I see the stars above...when I wear my pin, I believe they see me too.