This is a picture of me, on the left, when I was three years old. On the right is my brother, who would be a little over one.
I look pretty darned happy. We got a homemade, wooden stove for Christmas that year. I can’t remember if I had asked Santa for one or if it came as a complete surprise. In any event, looks as though it didn’t matter!
I do remember that stove, though. The knobs could turn ’round and ’round, and there was a clock in the centre where you could move the hands to change the time. The oven door opened up to what to me was an enormous cooking space.
I remember playing with it a lot.
I remember it smelled of fresh paint and the surface had a slight striped texture from the bristles of a paint brush. Someone made this stove by hand. At some level, even at three years old, I understood this and it made the gift all the more special and exciting. It was a one-of-a-kind. My stove. (Well, my brother’s too, I guess, if I was in the mood to share.)
I wonder what my own kids will remember of their own Christmases past?
The only hand-made Christmas gift my kids have received so far are scarves I knitted. My son saw me knitting a scarf one day and asked if I could knit him one, too. So there is one under the tree for him. And there’s one for my daughter…if I can finish it tonight!
A scarf is not as exciting as a toy stove, I can admit. Maybe they’ll remember visiting the fire station to drop off toys–which has become a yearly tradition–and getting to sit in the fire trucks if the firemen weren’t busy. I’d bank on my kids remembering at least something about that.
In any event, may your holiday season be filled with warm memories!
Now I’d better get knitting…