DECEMBER 10th

DECEMBER 10th
•Thought/story: "Just One Pioneer Christmas" (This is a great story and a good idea to try next year if you're feeling broke right now!)

•Scripture: Luke 6: 12-13
Event: Choosing his apostles
Jesus Christ was prayerful

•Recipe: Double Delicious Cookie bars (easy and good)
Ingredients: 1/2 c. butter, 1 1/2 c. graham cracker crumbs, 14 oz. Sweetened condensed milk, 12 oz. Semi-sweet choc. Chips, 1 c. peanut butter chips
Instructions: Preheat oven to 350 degrees (325 if using a glass dish). In 13x9 baking pan, press crumbs and melted margarine. Pour condensed milk over crumbs. Top with chips, press firmly down. Bake 25-30 min. or until lightly browned. Cool. Cut into bars. Store at room temp.

•Tradition: A fun idea is to make "breakfast boxes" with fruits, bagels, etc. and let your family eat breakfast (on a Saturday if that's the only day when you eat breakfast together) together under the Christmas tree. Word of caution: may want to try with older children only!

•Small gift idea: Blizzard gift bag. It is definitely a fitting time of year to give a "Blizzard" gift - we don't have enough of those around here, right? Decorate a brown sack again using whatever method you would like to with a snowman. Be sure to put a scarf and hat on your snowman so he looks like he's outside. Fill the bag w/1/2 gallon of vanilla ice cream and blizzard fixings such as M&Ms, oreos, etc. The outside of the bag should also read: "It's a Blizzard."

•REDUCING CHRISTMAS STRESS
Keep A Holiday Planner - Start it now, to herd in the heaps of details that would
otherwise drive you crazy. Whether you want a quiet, homespun, low-budget
Christmas or a house-packing, present-piling extravaganza, if you have to do it or buy it, write it down. Include everybody on the gift list, gift ideas, gifts bought and those still hunted; necessary supplies, like tape, ornament hooks, and wreath bows; parties you're going to and giving and related needs, such as a special dress sent to the cleaners or a call to the babysitter; baking plans and supplies; household jobs to do; endless grocery lists. Jot everything in a small notebook, so you never have to leave home without it. And cross things off once they're done so you can savor a sense of control and satisfaction.
(From Parenting)



 
JUST ONE PIONEER CHRISTMAS

by ]aroldeen Edwards

Every family develops its own unique
batch of habits and traditions. In all
honesty I have to admit that our family
embraces some of our traditions with
considerably more enthusiasm than
other ones. For example, it is a hallmark
tradition of our family that whenever
anyone is on a hip I am in a state
of "nervosa extremis" until I get the
obligatory "I have arrived safely"
phone call. This particular tradition is
becoming a real pain in the neck to my
college sons, one of whom burst out, as
he prepared to drive back to school,
"Mother, you have such a great imagination,
why don't you just imagine all
the best things are going to happen instead
of all the worst!"
Sage advice from my son. I agree
with him that my "worry tradition" is
one that could use a little judicious
retinkering. I am grateful for his candor
and wisdom. After all, one of our best
family traditions is listening to the advice
of our children. It is important to
understand that we own the traditions
- they do not own us. A tradition
that is not working-or that is too
much work-should be rethought.

However, many traditions in our
family bind us as with threads of gold.
They are the very fabric of our lives and
our memories. Those cherished traditions,
deeply rooted in the days of our
past, identify, describe, and delineate
us.
Many of our most treasured traditions
center on family conversation. We
are a family of talkers and listeners. We
love words, stories, humor, ideas, and
wit. From this great love was born one
of our most cherished traditions:
"around-the-table. "
We use "around-the-table" in many
ways: to answer a question "If money
were no object, what would you like to
collect?" or "Of all the books you've
ever read, not counting the scriptures,
which one comes most readily to your
mind?" or "What is your favorite scripture?";
to share experiences (every Sunday,
for example, we go "around-the table"
and tell what our lesson was
about); or to solve a problem ("What do
you think we might do to keep the Sabbath
day more holy?" or “What kind of
a vacation shall we take this year?"
or "How can we get family expenses under control?").

The most favorite times of "around the-
table," however, are always the
Twice-Told tales. At these times we
choose a topic and each person in the
family shares a memory, a story of
times past. The Twice-Told tales - heard
over and over - become more precious,
more funny, more vivid, with each retelling.
At no time in the year are our Twice-
Told tales more wonderful than at
Christmas. It usually starts like this. We
are all sitting, full, comfortable, and a
little lazy - not wanting to get up and
clear the table - just enjoying each other's
company and relaxing at the end of
the meal.
The holiday season has begun, and
holly berries, ribbons, and candles give
the house a secure warmth and a festive
glow. The tree is radiant, encrusted
with the hundreds of ornaments collected
and preserved through a myriad
of Christmases. Some were made by
tiny hands that are now the hands of
parents; some were bought in Woolworth's
in the first years of our marriage;
some were hand painted on a
snowy afternoon by twelve eager children
- all are now gleaming in the firelight.
Some of the grandchildren are
playing at our feet, or in the other
room. The teenagers and adults ringing
the table have laughed and eaten and
there is a little lull.
"Let's go around-the-table and everyone
tell a Christmas memory," some-
,one says. These will be Twice-Told
tales, or perhaps new ones that will
soon be added to our litany.
Everyone agrees, and then my husband
says, "We'll start with Catherine."
He nods to the far end of the table
where Catherine sits holding her new
baby, who has fallen asleep, his rosy
cheek pressed like a little cushion
against her shoulder, a small dribble of
milk at the comer of his mouth.
"No!" Catherine exclaims, with a
laugh. "Don't start with me! I've got to
think! Start with someone else. Start at
the other end of the table."
This is an inescapable part of the tradition.
Nobody ever wants to be first.
"Start with mother:'
"No, I want to hear what all of you
have to say first:'
"Then start with Marianna - oldest to
youngest."
"No. It has to go around-the-table."
We are all laughing because we know
it is ridiculous,but the ritual goes on,
until my husband in his quiet voice
says, "Ctherine, we'll start with you.
We'll just wait until you're ready."
Everyone looks at Catherine with an
anticipatory smile, and she struggles to
think of something wonderful, humorous,
or thrilling to relate. After a moment
of silence, the inevitable comment
is made: "Well, you can always tell
about the Pioneer Christmas,"
Immediately we are all laughing and
talking at once, struggling to remember
forgotten details, correcting one another's
memories, and joined by a feeling
of absolute communion of experience
and emotion. For at least ten or fifteen
minutes we will discuss our memories
of our Pioneer Christmas" and then" in an
orderly fashion" we will go around the table
and the many precious memories of other
Christmases past will come tumbling out as
each beloved person taps into the flow
of remembrance. It is the Pioneer Christmas
that seems to turn the key.
And what is this Pioneer Christmas?
Certainly not a tradition in the sense
that it is something we do every year.
We have only had Pioneer Christmas
once; however, the shared memory of it
has become one of our most significant
taditions. And the funniest thing about
that shared memory is that nobody remembers
the details of our Pioneer
Christmas very accurately. Half the fun of
talking about it is hearing the diverse
recollections and then trying to discern
which of them actually did happen.
It was created like this.
We had just moved into a large home
in San Marino, California, stretching
our budget to the limit. Our twelve children,
three of whom were in college, were happily
anticipating Christmas,
but my husband and I, aware of
the strained condition of our finances,
knew that a Christmas of plentiful gifts
was out of the question.
"They really don't need or want anything,"
I said. "It seems a shame to
spend a lot of money just for the excite-
ment of opening packages on Christmas
morning. There has to be a way of hav-
ing a wonderful celebration and not
spending much money."
"That's how the pioneers did it," my
husband affirmed. And there the idea
was! Full-blown and perfect.
"We'll have a Pioneer Christmas," I
exclaimed. "The rule will be that no gift
can be given that is not handmade."
Now, for some families this may not
seem like a dramatic decision, but for
our family it was earth-shaking. You
see, we are not "handy" people. I am
ashamed to admit that, although I have
taken countless lessons, I have yet to
sew a single article of clothing that anyone
(including myself) would wear outside
the house except on a moonless
night. My executive husband, although
he has the capability" has never had the
time for any hobby except being with
his children" and our children have
mostly chosen academic and athletic
pursuits over other forms of expertise.
Ingenuity became the watchword that
Christmas. Ingenuity, and secrecy. The
house was abuzz. Doors were closed at
all hours, and through them came odd
sounds of sewing machines, and fretsaws.
Little pots of paint, pieces of fab--
ric, drawers turned upside down in
search of pins or ribbons or unexpected
geegaws - this was our Christmas season.
Nobody could imagine what anyone
else was doing-except for my project. I
had decided to tie quilts for the four
oldest children, all of whom would be
in college before the end of the year.
(For material I was using sheets I had
bought at a discount linen store, from a
sales bin. The patterns were wild, but
the cost was negligible.) The family
room was occupied by a large quilting
frame, which could not be hidden.

One thing we all remember was the
pleasant hum of activity, the feeling of
happy secrets and warm vitality that
pervaded the house that year. Another
sweet thing that happened was that
each of the younger children chose an
older brother or sister to confide in.
When they encountered difficulties in
bringing their plans into reality, they
found a comforting, capable sibling
who shared their secret and helped
with the hard parts.
The biggest mystery of all was what
my husband was making. Night after .
night he came home from the office, ate
supper, and then disappeared into the
garage - which he had declared off limits
to everyone. We had no idea
what he was creating in there. Our curiosity
was almost beyond control.
Christmas morning came. I have one
son who recalls that there was one
store-bought gift for each child, but I do
not remember that. All I remember is
that the uniqueness of the Pioneer
Christmas was the joy of the giver.
None of the children were eager to
open their own presents. Their true
eagerness lighted their faces as they
watched others opening the gifts they
had made.
And what were those gifts? I will
give a partial list, but you must promise
to remember we were not a handy family.
The truth is, I don't remember all
the gifts myself, and I have already told
you the collective family memory is not
altogether reliable. But these were some
of the things: homemade, embroidered
pillowcases from the older girls; pioneer

shirts made by our freshman daughter
for the boys; hand-painted door signs
for the bedrooms; wooden blocks cut
and sanded by our ten-year-old son for
the family toy chest; the quilts; homemade
aprons and handkerchiefs.
The younger children had proved ingenious.
Our seven-year-old daughter
had devised her own formula for perfume,
using soap, water, and flower
petals from the garden. She mixed it in
old cosmetic jars.
Our youngest son made all of his
presents out of paper. They were terrific
presents. Ties for his older brothers
cut out, colored with crayons, and
carefully wrapped in gift paper. He
made a wallet for someone - complete
with homemade money-all out of paper.
The problem with his wonderful
gifts was that we kept getting them
mixed up with the wrapping paper,
and throwing them away. He would
patiently retrieve them.
At last it was time for my husband to
unveil his gift. Our oldest son went to
the garage to help carry it in. We could
not imagine what it might be!
They lifted it over the threshold of
the living room covered in a blanket.
With a flourish my husband unveiled
his masterpiece. And it was a masterpiece!
A family post office. It was a
wonderful structure with a compartment
for each member of the family all
fourteen of us, plus my mother who
lived with us. Each compartment had
the name of a different member of the
family emblazoned on it. In each of the
cubbyholes was a personal letter, written
to the individual whose name appeared
on the box. The tender, loving
words were a gift from their father as
well.
The faInily post office served for
years as the clearinghouse for the messages
of our family. Notes of encouragement
and congratulation, packages,
letters, instructions, homework assignments,
important papers--all reposed
in the Pioneer Christmas family post office-
which gift was the climax of that
day.
Just this year my oldest son, who is
now the father of five splendid children,
was visiting with me before
Christmas. He is starting a high-tech
company, has just bought a wonderful
home, and is feeling the financial pressures
of a burgeoning family. He
grinned at me and said, "1 think we'll
have a Pioneer Christmas this year."
I laughed and said, "You've learned
the secret."
"Yes," he replied. "It's taken me all
these years to figure out that having a
Pioneer Christmas is just a terrific way
of saying there's no money for Christmas
this year."
We both chuckled because, of course,
there was a good deal of truth in his
assessment. But it got me to thinking.
What is it, really, about that Pioneer
Christmas that makes it such an important
part of our family: a tradition that
sneaked up on us and now will not be
denied, that stays with us in wonderful
ways, that creates for all of us the echo
and reverberations of all the happiest of
times (even though, as one of my other
children said, "I don't know why we
talk about it so much. I really like getting
a lot of good, store-bought presents
a lot better!").
Why do we talk about it? Why is it
one of our best around-the-table, Twice-
Told tales? Maybe if we can understand,
we can understand more about
the mystery of traditions themselves.
I have discerned two things about the
Pioneer Christmas that make it a family
treasure. The first is very simple: It has
a name. Somehow, when we give anything
a name, we give it importance
and reality. We lift it up from the ordinary
and give it identity and value. The
giving of names to important times,.
places, people, and events is a precious
and sacred activity.
Those things which are to be cherished
deserve to be named. And, once
named, they will be easier to cherish.
So it is that I have discovered, through
our Pioneer Christmas, that a named
tradition is a tradition twice blessed,
more easily loved, and ever accessible
to the wisps of memory.
The second thing I have learned from
our Pioneer Christmas is that the truism
is true: It is more blessed to give than to
receive. Effort is the best coinage with
which to buy a gift for another. Not
one member of our family remembers
the Pioneer Christmas for what he or
she received (with two exceptions,
which I will name in a moment). They
do not even remember exactly what
they gave. What they do remember is
the happy effort that everyone spent in
the hopes of delighting the people
loved. They remember their own
struggles to make, with unaccustomed
hands, objects that would give joy. It
was the struggle itself that created the
joy.
There were two gifts that Christmas
that have stood the test of time. The
post office serves forever in our minds
as a symbol of the love of our husband
and father, and also as a symbol of the
unity and solidarity of our now scattered
family.
We also remember my quilts. To this
day those quilts are to be seen at every
family sleep-over, on camping trips, in
the backs of family cars. You see, the
sheets, garish and unmatched, were
also indestructible. No amount of wear
and tear, no amount of washing, can
dim, fade, or weaken that sturdy fabric.
Those quilts will not give in. Not
pretty, or decorative, or sophisticated,
or particularly well made, they are
nonetheless another family tradition.
"Ah yes," we say, when someone
lifts a child out of a car wrapped in the
red-bandana quilt, or a sleeping bag is
unrolled to reveal the dark-brown flowered
quilt folded up inside. "We remember
that quilt. Wasn't it one of the
ones mother made for the Pioneer
Christmas?" And everybody laughs,
and a sweet feeling of warmth and contentment,
better than any quilt ever offered,
fills the circle of family hearts.
We are stitched together, threaded
and tied like the quilts, by the measure
of our shared memories, symbols, and
beliefs. This is the ultimate gift of tradi-
.tions. This Is the gift of one unforgettable
Christmas.


Jaroldeen Edwards is the author of Things I Wish I'd
Known Sooner: Personal Discoveries of a Mother of twelve
and The Chaldean Star, as well as several novels released
nationally, including A Woman Between and
The mountains Of Eden.