Handmade holiday gifts warm hearts

I’m sure you’ve already noticed the holiday displays edging into the aisles in stores. And the gift catalogs are already arriving in the mail. Just today, a friend posted on Facebook that she’d gotten her first red and white Starbuck’s Christmas cup with her drive-though morning latte. So, ready or not, it looks like the holiday season is bearing down on us. This year, still under the effect of a weakened economy, I suspect we’ll be hit hard and heavy, urged to do out part to stimulate the economy and make the December retail season a success. It’s hard not to be a little discouraged. Still, I love the season. I love the celebration and the decorating and the food. Especially the food. But every year at about this time, before getting swept away in the hype, I go all Little House on the Prairie and start preaching about homemade gifts. Remember the books and the little cakes Ma stayed up all night baking? Remember the television show and the fur cape and saddle Pa made for the girls? So, when my children ask what is on my list, I always ask them to use their hands not their wallets and give me something homemade. Like they used to do when they were children. I still have the little table my son made, with the help of his grandfather, when he was 10-years-old. He burned the word MOM on the top with his wood burning kit. There are other mementoes, most made when they were much younger. Handmade pottery vases sit on my desk. A pillow with a little handprint on it rests on the bed. A watercolor of our favorite spot on the coast, painted by my middle daughter and a sketch of wild horses done by my youngest hang on the wall. These are the gifts I treasure. But, to my children, one of the pleasures of growing up is being able to earn the money to buy gifts. And I can’t fault them. It is nice to choose a book or jewelry or DVD you know will be appreciated. Still, for several years now, since she was a poor student and couldn’t afford to hit the mall for gifts, my oldest daughter has given me something guaranteed to warm my heart. Or, at least my toes. She fills a new white cotton tube sock, purchased at the Dollar Store, with rice and stitches the open end closed. Then, she sews a pretty cover out of fleece and ties it with ribbon. I keep the thermostat low and my house gets a bit chilly in the coldest part of winter. At night, just before going to bed, I’ll warm the rice-filled sock in the microwave, put on the cozy cover and slip it under the covers. When I turn out the light and slide under the blanket, my feet rest on the warm bundle. Delicious. (Of course, when you think about it, this is a gift for her father as well. No more waking up to cold toes from the other side of the bed. ) This year, she is finally out of graduate school. And, hopefully, she’ll have a job soon and money won’t be so tight. But, as far as I’m concerned, she can keep the rice-in-a-sock tradition. Nothing could ever be as warm as that simple handmade gift.