We Can't Remember Our Tomorrow's

by J.G. Fabiano

My traditional Thanksgiving dinner had just ended with most of my relatives small-talking their way through the bits and pieces of leftover turkey, mashed potatoes, and pies.

Some of us, who were not part of the clean up team, forced our way away from the table to the living room where we could stretch out a bit and think about the meal that had just been completed. After we opened up our pants and stretched our bodies out so that we could breath, we discussed politics in a way that only a family filled with Jews and Italians could discuss it. This year's political conversation was more solemn than in years past. Over the years most of my family, who are Republicans, exclaimed how the present administration brought a false sense of financial security to the American people. They talked about how the inflated stock market and the massive debt held by most Americans was more than ready to burst and thus smash what had been known to be a very fragile economy. We all agreed that now that the election was over, reality was ready to become real. So, this year's discussion was more subdued, almost shrouded by the knowledge that the upcoming Christmas season would probably be a frugal one.

My back was to the table when I heard my father-in-law tell my daughter that he could not remember his tomorrow's. I turned to correct him when a thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I was the one who should be corrected. I started looking around my sister-in-law's house noticing presents from some of my Christmas's past. These presents were not of the store-bought variety. No, those had long since decayed away or had been broken. In fact, few of them ever saw the coming spring. I am talking about presents that were made by hand almost a decade and a half before when times were very similar to what they are today. With the exception that we are all fifteen years older.

A large brown wreath hung by the television set. A once brilliant red and white striped ribbon was strung around it's circumference. In the middle were handmade and charmingly imperfect renditions of Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Their outlines had become burgundy colored with age and their skins had the complexions of people who spent most of their winters in Florida. I remember its maker working well into the night on the ornaments she gave away that year as gifts. Santa Clauses, Christmas lambs, Christmas boys and girls, and even a Christmas ghost. Ornaments that still hang on all of my relatives' Christmas trees. Ornaments which few of us see often, but expect to see when we gather for the holidays.

Looking around the room, I saw a bright red disc that originally had been the bottom of a Christmas cookie dish. A mirror was placed on top of it to represent water. White cotton puffs reached out to look like snow around a lake. Toy trees were placed in the cotton and each was sprayed with snow from a can. Dolls of inproportionate size were glued on the mirror dancing on top of the imaginary ice. In the middle of the mirror was an imperfectly written red speckled "NOEL".

Christmas baskets decorated most of the tables in the room. Baskets which were once filled with the most remarkable tasting fudge, brittle, cakes, and muffins. I remember visiting the homes of my family during this time and being knocked over by the wonderful, sweet smells of fresh pastries and candies. The smell was so strong that you could almost taste the goodness in the air. But, of course, you had to wait until Christmas day. The food has long since been eaten but the memories of the flavors still make my mouth water every time the empty baskets are put on the tables reminding everyone of Christmas pasts.

Over the years, my family has become more affluent with their age. Gone is the necessity to save money by making everyone a present for the holidays. In fact, sometimes it seems like we are now competing against each other by trying to out spend each other. We used to use the excuse that their isn't enough time to make each other's Christmas presents. No one even bothers to use that excuse anymore.

Everything in life is based on cycles. Being older we just see these cycles coming before they arrive. Maybe these cycles are meant to occur so that we can take the time to see what is important in our lives. Maybe these cycles happen so we can remember our tomorrow's.

Jim Fabiano is a free lance writer living in York Beach, Maine

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Last Updated: November 2, 1996