Taking down the Christmas tree

Taking down the tree 

Susan DeMersseman,

Special to The Chronicle Wednesday, January 1, 2003

        I'm sure there are people for whom taking down the Christmas tree is just another housekeeping task. But for me it is a ritual filled with sentiment. It is a melancholy process in which all phases of my life participate. There is the little me who wishes we could keep the tree up all year. Trying to persuade my parents to wait just one more week. There is the practical me of now, trying to find the magic way to wind up the lights so that we don't spend hours untangling them next December. The practical me tries to get up all the pine needles so I won't still be picking them up at Easter. And there is the future me, maybe wondering, like my mother did every year from 65 to 85, when might be the last year I'd be putting the Christmas decorations away.

     I like decorating the tree with the family. It's a lively, social event, but somehow it just feels right to take it down alone. And I don't seem to get a lot of offers of help, so it works out fine. I work slowly, trying to fit more into fewer storage boxes. I try to edit a few nonsentimental items, and I stop to admire some special ornaments. There are the ones showing the goofy smiles of kindergarten, photos framed by glitter and green macaroni.

       As my mother got older, her decorating for Christmas got more and more elaborate. As I pack things away, I wonder if I'll be that way. Her house at Christmas had an arrangement on every surface. The nativity scene on the mantel. Santa on the buffet. Rudolph on the bookshelf. Once in a while she would say, "I don't know, somehow this year just doesn't feel like Christmas." For me, it felt like Christmas every time I entered her warm little house after my long journey across the country.

     As I carefully wrap the porcelain choirboys that were once hers and the few ornaments from my childhood trees, I think of her and of the warm and twinkling place she created. And I drift again to the future and to my own children and hope that such warm and twinkling memories will stick with them.

     When the tree is empty and the storage boxes packed and stowed away in the basement, then someone else can take the tree to the curb, but the job of removing the decorations is mine and one I do reverently. I'm not at the point yet where I give a lot of thought to what might be the last year. Instead, this process is about memory and appreciation and a quiet, solitary ritual -- one in which all the times of my life melt into now.

      There are some memories to share and some to savor alone.

E-mail freelance writer Susan DeMersseman at home@sfchronicle.com. This article appeared on page HO - 3 of the San Francisco Chronicle Posted by susande

Jesus' birthday, not yours.

I think this piece is worth sharing each year. This and the advice a wise man offered  years ago -- to not live in "the kingdom of thingdom."

“It’s Jesus' birthday, not yours.”

That statement was once said gently by my Grandfather, Ralph Kochenderfer, and repeated for years by other family members. Ralph was a reserved and kind man, but he had his priorities straight. He never missed an event his four children took part in and he would even let them play hooky on good fishing days. With a lunch of oatmeal cookies and cheese they would spend the day by the creek. But Christmas traditions were different.

Grandfather was Pennsylvania Dutch with what seemed like a significant Amish streak. A dignified and honorable man he kept all the secrets of his little town in South Dakota. As the railroad depot agent he was the telegrapher in town in the twenties and thirties, so he knew the contents of every message sent and received.

While he did not believe in the frenzy over gifts he enjoyed the celebration. The depot waiting room was the largest site in town and every year was the location for wonderful holiday parties – food, music, and spirit provided by everyone in town.

I’m grateful that this simple statement became part of the family culture. While others scurry around purchasing for people close and not so close to them, most of us are decorating our homes or arranging little (or sometimes big) parties. There’s a lot of empty space under our tree, but our homes are filled with friends and festivities.

My husband and I started early with our own children, not to expect volume. Our family event on Christmas Eve takes very little time for package opening with only a few small thoughtful gifts. Now that our children are grown we give them a little money to add to their savings for a special purchase. And there is sometimes a handmade gift card for a special activity for the family. One year when they were younger we took them for dinner at a nice French restaurant. That experience was so special and memorable it has become a point of reference for them. I just made reservations at the same restaurant and am certain the memory of the upcoming dinner will stay with them longer than anything they could unwrap from under the tree.

Easter -- again

An article from many years ago, but did put just the bunny family up this year.

Time for Peter Cottontail to be a boxed-up bunny?

Susan DeMersseman, Special to The Chronicle

Wednesday, April 16, 2003

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In our basement, next to the many boxes of Christmas decorations, is a single box filled with the decorations of my favorite holiday. In it there are a few special baskets, a Ziploc bag filled with that messy green stuff that's supposed to look like grass, and all kinds of bunnies. We even have a set that is our family -- a mother bunny, a father bunny and two little bunnies.
But this Easter for the first time, the bunnies will stay in their box, next to the egg-decorating material and the array of little stuffed rabbits that usually snuggle on the window sills.
This year there will be no hunt for Easter eggs, and I don't think my big teenagers will miss the hunt or the bunnies. They're more concerned with acceptances from colleges and making plans with friends. The arrival of Peter Cottontail is the last thing on their minds.
My fondness for this holiday goes way back. I have many tender memories of Midwestern Easters. The celebration of renewed hope, cakes made in the shape of lambs, eating all the candy I saved and didn't eat during Lent and the chance to wear a frilly new dress under a heavy overcoat and trudge through the snow to church in slippery little party shoes.
How could you not love that -- and the bunnies?
I could decorate this year, but we are all going different directions on our spring vacations. We'll visit potential colleges in the area, friends in Georgia and art museums in Boston and New York. Peter Cottontail would not know where to find us anyway.
Still, traditions die hard in this family. One year, when my sister-in-law threatened to change the menu for Christmas Eve dinner, there was a near mutiny. So the box of decorations will stay just where it is and in a few years, when my children are old enough to value what it was like being little, they will say, "Whatever happened to the bunnies?" or "Don't we get Easter baskets anymore?" And I'll be ready. The baskets will be nearby. And the little marshmallow chicks and jellybeans? I think I'll keep them handy each year, too. You never can tell when it might be time for the bunnies to return. This is, after all, a holiday about rebirth, so it seems only right that that the tradition will emerge again someday in a new form.

E-mail freelance writer Susan DeMersseman at home@sfchronicle.com.

Read more: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2003/04/16/HO237257.DTL#ixzz1qo9aTNoB

Christmas Traditions Recycled

Friends are spending this holiday in ways they didn't plan. They are not with the people they usually celebrate with or they're not taking trips to family in snowy areas -- so they must "adjust". Here's my story of adjustment from the San Francisco Chronicle  10 years ago. It has gotten easier.

As times change, make new traditions from old

Susan DeMersseman, Special to The Chronicle

Wednesday, December 3, 2003

The holidays often create the challenge of melding traditions from different families. Also, those who moved from places that look like a "winter wonderland" in December must find ways to feel the holiday spirit in the California sun. In either case, adjustments are required.
As I pull out our holiday decorations, I can see that I am adjusting, and it's starting to feel a little more natural.
For the first 14 years of marriage, we returned to be with my family in South Dakota at Christmas, as I had done every other year of my life before that.
Then five years ago, a decision I had long avoided loomed. My mother was 90, no longer really conscious and unable to leave her care facility. I didn't think that I could stand being at our family Christmas events, knowing that she was just a few miles away and not with us. It felt equally hard to remain in California for Christmas, away from my brothers and their families and from the many traditions we shared at the holidays.
On the other hand, my husband, who is a California native, was ready for a Christmas here. He had long felt we needed to come up with some local traditions. Our kids didn't put up too much of a fuss, so we spent our first Christmas as a family in California.
I bought a tube of waterproof mascara and tried to stay busy. We had always "gone to Christmas," and now we had to bring it here. Though I had moments when I felt like curling up under a warm comforter and weeping, I had to find a way to make it feel like Christmas here, for my children and for myself.
I started by planning a big party. I sprayed fake frost on every window. I cheered when the temperature went down. The house smelled of mulled cider and logs burning on the fire. Every corner was decorated in some way. The menu and traditions were like those we usually celebrated back home. Everyone had a great time.
Our quiet family event on Christmas Eve also went fairly well. We ate fresh crab by the fire, shared some with the cat and opened our gifts. Sensing my misery, my husband even agreed to play board games with the children and me.
I took just a few breaks for tear attacks, and each year since has gone a little better.
One thing that has helped is to focus on people for whom the situation is truly serious. We have helped at a local church putting together Christmas packages for families in need. The children have earned money and donated to local causes or have done special things for some of the children whom I work with.
Each year we've had a crafts day with close friends and their kids, making decoupage plates, doll quilts and Christmas ornaments.
Now that my daughter is a teenager, we have "fancy cooking days," where her friends come and learn how to make dishes like meringues and red pepper relish . When we're done the kitchen is a disaster. And even the mess is comforting.
For my children these traditions will be added to their Christmas memories. As a fervent recycler, my mother would be proud that I made new traditions from old ones.

Susan DeMersseman is a psychologist and parent educator in Berkeley. E-mail her at home@sfchronicle.com.

http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2003/12/03/HO63D1SS1.DTL

This article appeared on page HO - 4 of the San Francisco Chronicle

Traditions at the holidays

Holiday traditions strengthen family ties

Susan DeMersseman, Special to The Chronicle

Published 4:00 am, Wednesday, November 26, 2008

• 
  It wouldn't be Thanksgiving at Susan DeMersseman's house without the turkey-shaped candle holder of painted wood. Photo: Raymond Holbert

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This year I was reminded of the power of tradition when my daughter, Lauren, was looking for the turkey-shaped candleholder that we "needed" to put on the Thanksgivingtable. This candleholder is special in no other way than that it has been on our table for all the Thanksgivings I can remember. On our table, too, will always be stuffing from the recipe of the children's grandmother Carolyn. And for as long as I am at the table, there will be a short prayer of thanksgiving; I'm grateful most for the ability to see the things that we can be grateful for.

In good or bad times, the holidays can be intense periods in peoples' lives. The holidays can create all kinds of expectations, often fueled by commercial interest, some by family pressures. Regardless of the elements that surround one's holiday, there is a powerful and comforting role that tradition can play. There is something grounding in the familiarity and continuity that traditions bring to a family. More are present around the holidays, but in many families there are regular practices that give strength to the fabric of that family.

Years ago, after spending every Christmas with my family in South Dakota, we spent our first Christmas in California. My mother, who had been the center of the family, was no longer living, and it seemed like the right time to make the change. Many of the traditions of that first year were what might be considered recycled. That year, I yearned to see the Black Hills turn white beneath a blanket of snow. But that would not be, so that Christmas was drenched in Dakota tradition - the menus, the parties and the decorations. Fake snow on the windows and a sympathetic husband helped, but it was celebrating in ways that were familiar to all of us that made this transition easier.

Many of the most precious traditions cost very little or nothing, important in these challenging economic times. Some families take walks before or after dinner, get together with the same friends, or as a family perform acts of charity. Tradition does not draw its power from a price tag, but from the sense of continuity that can come from something as small as a 23-year-old daughter who remembers a turkey-shaped candleholder for the Thanksgiving table.