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 Sixth Day of a Feminine Christmas

This little lady is selling ornaments.  I like to imagine she is at one of those marvelous outdoor European Christmas markets.  I don't believe there are many outdoor markets in my neck of the woods but I love when I can find a local Christmas fair in a school or church in my town.

My elementary school used to hold a Christmas bazaar in early December each year.  It was the best thing next to the holiday itself.  Always at night in the creaky old auditorium in the basement of our 1920's brick school, mothers would push tables end-to-end around the perimeter of the room.  Here they would hawk their wares, most of which was made by us in art classes.  There were colorful felt headbands, elaborate Styrofoam ornaments with pailettes attached by common pins and trimmed with velvet ribbons, and small Santa's made from empty aspirin bottles replete with cotton-ball beards.  There was also a candy table with bouquets of candy canes plunged into orange juice cans decorated with red and green rick-rack and crinkly cellophane-wrapped peanut brittle and fudge.  The bake sale table was overflowing with breads, cookies and cakes, all mother-baked.  I always enjoyed visiting the White Elephant table for its odd-duck but charming bric-a-brac  It was a bright and festive night.

When I was a girl, my maternal grandfather was the general manager of Filene's Basement -   THE Filene's Basement - the original in Boston.  This meant occasional boxes sent to our house filled with clothes. They were usually garments that were left-over after the automatic mark-downs had ended but it was still pretty nice stuff.  I can't say I was pleased with the black jodhpurs that came once but I loved the sheepskin coat and stir-up pants I found along with them.  For the most part, my grandfather was spot-on with what went into the boxes, especially the day my mother opened one with a beautiful grey, magenta, and mushroom tweed Chanel suit for her.  It even had the weighted chain sewn into the hem of the jacket although it was torn off on one side.  Along with the suit came fuchsia alligator pumps which were a perfect match.

In those days, even a simple school fair had mothers turning out in their finery and so the Christmas bazaar was the perfect occasion for my mother to debut her new suit and shoes.  I'll never forget how pretty she looked behind my class' craft table with her hair bobby-pinned up into a French twist.  She was trim and feminine with the jacket buttoned close and the shiny pumps in their unusual color, on her dainty feet.  As we merrily raced from table to table with fudge on our fingers, my mother - chic and composed - worked the Christmas bazaar for our school.  Even as a second-grader, I felt proud.

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.