Homespun Memories of Christmas Stockingsby Suzan Flanagan
Christmas Stockings
With each family addition, another embroidered stocking magically appeared; my mother, great-aunt, and grandmother made certain of that. Where they found socks that style, I'm not sure. No one I knew—not even my grandparents—wore such socks! As the first grandchild, I was given two Christmas stockings (Stocking protocol wasn't established until after my birth.) When my mother remarried, my spare stocking was recycled. I offered my stepfather the stretchy nylon sock, however, it wasn't entirely an altruistic gesture. I kept my favorite, the larger of the two. Once filled with holiday goodies, the stockings retied on the hearth until Christmas morning. Our names scrawled in embroidered chain stitches, distorted with the stretched fabric. White lettering looped across my hunter green stocking; made of cotton, it didn't expand as well as nylon, though it accommodated unusually shaped objects equally well. On Christmas morning we sat at the breakfast table, too excited to eat properly. Santa, wise in his ways, tucked nuts and tangerines into our stockings. While the beary-eyes adults sipped their coffee, we hastily emptied our Christmas stockings, spilling their contents on the table. We sampled chocolates and candy canes, reserving the nuts and tangerines for later. Our thought soon dashed to the Christmas tree and the gifts beneath When I married, we blended stocking traditions. We selected over sized red and green stockings with Santa appliqués and glittered names. Our children's red and white stockings are homemade. One strongly reflects my husband's Christmas traditions, the other my family's. Our childhood stockings and those precious memories remain safely tucked away. |
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