I remember writing about this ‘penny-wise’ approach to the holidays before…but that was many years ago. And how embarrassing that I didn’t keep my New Year’s resolution words. I promised myself to no longer horde worn out ribbons, banged up boxes, badly mangled bows, and especially scraps of the paper wrapping. But I’m convinced I haven’t thrown out a single piece of these Christmas trappings.
My parsimonious habits stem from the way I was raised, i.e. “Waste not. Want not.” And that applied to everything. So each year when I go to garnish Christmas gifts here’s the first thing on my list; check out the giant tub with the little bits of leftover paper in it. I stop to think ‘cause I never know when I might find that special tiny piece…the one that will almost be enough to go around the box that holds the cuff links.
My bad? Actually I’m worse with the bow thing. “Save the bows! Save the bows!” my mom would proclaim, as she peered down the throat of a trashcan with absolutely no shame. I’ve grown up to do the same. While I was never taught to salvage nametags I’ve often wondered why. I mean, if you’re gonna retrieve ragtag ribbons of yore, it would only make ‘cents’ to keep tattered tags from before.
And then there were/are the boxes… ‘Santa forbid’ you threw those away. This was especially true if they had kept their shape after little fingers had torn off the wrapping and tape. The ones that bore a designer label or held some prestige were the best presents ever… Neiman Marcus, Saks, Cartier. Just use a box from any of these and throw in some socks from the Dollar Tree. It would be sure to please even those with the most discerning tastes. Anyway, that’s what my mom would always say. And this resulted in not throwing any of those away. You might be amused, confused or maybe appalled at the number of old boxes I store in a closet off the hall. The attic is even worse with a huge crate containing empty parcels of various sizes and shapes.
There had been too many times when Mom had bought a gift and come home without a container for it. So an old shoebox marked size seven might just be perfect for a ceramic angel sent from heaven. And to discover rocks in a box, after Mom telling me, “Don’t shake it, you’ll break it,” was another of her tricks to disguise a gift. And one time those very words led to a parakeet named Pete.
Don’t freak…down in our basement in a cage safe and sound, Peetie was content just hanging around. Mom used scraps of Christmas paper to cover up his crate. More paper with clues written on it had me circling in a loop until I finally found myself staring at his coop! (I really wanted to use “poop” there!) Instead of paper scraps, feathers could just as easily been used for the trail, since the poor critter had no tail. There wasn’t any foul play. He’d simply managed to get loose. And during my brother’s pursuit to capture him, many a feather flew. Stuck on top of the cage was a plastic dove, no doubt a remnant from someone’s wedding cake. But being only eight I thought this was the best gift ever and the wrapping was first rate.
For 2025 with these memories etched into my heart
I’ve decided there’s not anything from which I want to part.
I’ve resigned myself to save all scraps, any ribbon, all bows and any box.
I keep thinking about what my mom would announce:
“Waste not.” ~ “Want not.”