I'm so tired of all the "bah humbug" that goes on this time of year. Enough about the materialism of Christmas; it's a reality, but doesn't have to necessarily interfere with the way we choose to celebrate. The nicest thing about aging (yes, it does have its benefits) is that we have so much of the past to draw upon. Here are some memories and wisdom I've accumulated through the years.

You don't have to have a lot to give a lot. Dad was in school under the GI Bill and graduated when I was 4. Mom used all of her talents as a former home economics teacher to make aprons, placemats and the like out of flour sacks. Back then, flour came in printed cotton bags that served multiple uses. A couple of years ago a friend gave me kitchen towels from a well-known Valencia boutique that were made from - yup, you guessed it - flour sacks. When I was 6, Santa brought me Linda, a walking doll. Most of you early boomers remember walking dolls. They were tall and jointed and you could "walk" them. In retrospect, Linda was pretty mundane in comparison with today's baby dolls that eat, tinkle, poop, talk, giggle and really "walk!" Mother knit and sewed a complete wardrobe for her: sweaters, dresses, nightgowns, skirts and a coat. I knew I was the luckiest girl on earth. I still do.

The element of surprise is part of the mystique of the holidays. Our Christmas started the night before. We had wonderful homemade pizza and all got to open one present that was under the tree. Since Santa hadn't been there yet, that meant one of our relatives' well-intended gifts of socks or nightgowns. I never quite got the surprise thing, and would sneak gifts up to my room, ever so carefully unwrap them, check them out, try them on, re-wrap and put them back under the tree. I always knew just what gift to unwrap on Christmas Eve (always my Grandma Jo's) for a beautiful new flannel nightgown or robe to wear that night. Looking back at old holiday photos, I was always the best dressed on Christmas morning.

Forget the health food this time of year. I need all the preservatives I can get. I am of the belief that dieting should be a 46-week venture. All bets are off beginning Thanksgiving and ending on New Year's Day. That being said, why is it that every holiday party has a veggie tray staring at me? And worse, why is it usually strategically placed between the baked brie with glazed walnuts and brown sugar and decadent chocolate pecan pie? The holidays are about whipped cream, eggnog, butter cookies and homemade fudge, not anti-oxidants or anti-aging vegetables. The closest one should come to a root vegetable are whipped yams, oozing brown sugar and butter and covered with melted marshmallows. Period.

I don't suffer from insanity, I enjoy every minute of it. For as long as I can remember, I celebrated the holidays the way my mother did, and her mother, and on back to all the wonderful Italian cooks of my heritage: I baked. I really baked. I started in the fall during apple season, making and canning apple butter. Around Thanksgiving I started baking dozens of small loaves of pumpkin, zucchini and lemon breads, which were frozen for future use. That was followed by at least four dozen of six to eight different kinds of cookies, toffee and fudge. I distributed lovely baskets of my goods to friends and family alike. Anyone who came to our home would immediately be drawn to the cookie tray like bees to honey. I was totally and thoroughly exhausted, but boy, were we popular! The Christmas of 1994 I didn't bake, not one cookie (my mother was still doing all of that). Surprise! The holidays were just as wonderful and a life lesson was learned.

A journey of a thousand miles (the distance covered by holiday shopping) begins with a cash advance. My mother was a gift counter, so I became a gift counter. Each one of her five children received an equal number of gifts whether we needed them or not. For years I dutifully counted gifts to make certain all three of my children got equal treatment. Even if I had to buy packages of socks, they all got the same number. Now I'm a grandmother and can buy frivolous things like winter muffs and knit matching scarves. I don't count the number of gifts. I simply count my blessings, which are many indeed.


Ann hopes that your holidays are filled with wonderful memories and gentle moments. E-mail her at ann@insidescv.com.