Merry Christmas, everybody! Jake, June and I headed up to Baltimore to spend Christmas with Jake’s family. We had a blast — lots of good food, laughter, commotion and games. Jake is the eldest of six, and most of his siblings have children of their own, so his parents’ house tends to get very busy around holiday time.
Every year, Jake’s Grandmom, who is probably one of the more loving and generous women I know, presents everyone with a large plastic storage bin packed really, really tightly with gifts. I’m talking a minimum of 20 gifts each for every man, woman and child present. And she doesn’t do one bin per family or even one bin per couple — everyone gets their own Tupperware bin of Christmas cheer. It’s Grandmom’s signature Christmas move — burying loved ones with tchotchkes, weird whatnots and random doohickeys for the home, regardless of taste, desire or necessity.
I don’t know if it’s because she came of age during the Depression when knicksknacks were scarce, but Grandmom equates quantity with love; the more loot you receive, the more you’re loved. And evidently, we’re all loved very, very, very, very much. Nor can this rampant outpouring of love be stopped. A couple of years ago, one of her children asked her to please, for the love of Christmas, ease off the unbridled gift giving, and Grandmom has reduced the size of the bins to a more manageable shipping box, but the sheer volume of gifts from Grandmom is still through the roof.
(We love you, Grandmom! There is no one like you. We wouldn’t trade your rampant gift giving for anything!)