Christmas in Deadwood

As the Christmas season quickly approaches, conversations between my colleagues center around either their successes or problems in purchasing this year's "must-have" gift. They speak of their procrastination of sending out cards, criticizing themselves for not being better organized to accomplish all that needs to be done before Christmas. They speak of their worry about paying the bills in the months to come. Few seem genuinely happy about the season; more appear to worry about failing to measure up to some unstated expectation.

I remember a time when less was more. It was a Christmas when nothing turned out the way that I had planned it, and yet, it was so perfect. My Christmas in Deadwood was one that would never be forgotten.

I was looking forward to Christmas. My children were 5 and 2 years old—the perfect ages for celebrating Christmas. Their eyes twinkled with delight when they saw the holiday lights and mall decorations. A holiday train transported the children around the center of the mall. The Cinnamon Bear in the store greeted children with hugs and cinnamon cookies. All things, big or small, were magical and wondrous in the eyes of children.

As a single parent, it had been a tough year for me. Finances and finding free time was a rare commodity. But, I wanted Christmas to be a day unlike any other for my daughters. And it turns out that it was—only not in the way that I intended it to be.

It was two days before Christmas when I received the call. My ex-husband said that he was planning to be visiting his family in Southern Oregon for Christmas and wanted to take our daughters with him.

"I was expecting them to be with me for Christmas, why are you making these plans now?" I asked.

He reminded me that he had not seen them since our divorce 18 months earlier and felt that he was entitled to see them on this holiday. "Being with me and their grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins would be much more fun for them then to spend it with just you," he rationalized. "What am I suppose to do for Christmas?

"Take advantage of having a day off to relax," he suggested. I hated the prospect of spending Christmas apart from my children. However, this was the first opportunity they had to spend time with their father in 18 months. I thought they would enjoy visiting his family too. I wanted my children to be able to spend time with them, but why did it have to be on Christmas? What was I suppose to do by myself? Relax?

My ex-husband's comment made me angry. Being alone on a major holiday, without transportation and no mass transit available, I would be homebound with nothing to do. My friend Cheryl called, and I vented to her about my ex's plan.

"Lisa, come home with me," she pleaded.

"No, that's okay. Christmas is for families, and I would feel really out of place," I replied. "I'll just watch old Christmas shows on TV."

But she relentlessly insisted "You must do this for me, so I can enjoy my Christmas."

Not wanting the guilt of her unenjoyable Christmas resting on my shoulders, I gave in. Her family owned the only gas station—that also served as the only store—in the town of Deadwood. It was one of those towns without other amenities. To buy groceries, people had to travel to neighboring towns. I was shocked to learn that Cheryl grew up in Deadwood. What did people do here? Cheryl may have sensed my disillusionment.

"The great part about having your family own the town's gas station/store is that they can open it whenever you need it."

Her parents' home was filled with relatives and friends from town. It was an experience unlike any other I had before. The men and women did not segregate into separate areas of the house. The men did not watch television while the women talked in another room. The meal was not prepared by a single cook, who shoo out people from the kitchen until her dramatic final presentation for all her guests. Instead, I found community participation. Preparation for the meal was a group effort, with multiple cooks suggesting a little of this or that spice to add to a dish. One person would peel potatoes, while another diced carrots. There was a job for everyone, including the children.

Their conversations focused on what was happening around them as it occurred. There was no talk of past disappointments or anxiety of what the future had in store. They had no distractions that kept them from savoring each moment fully in the present. They had the gift of seeing things with the youthful eyes of a child when all things, big and small, were marvelous to explore.

After the children were tucked in bed, Cheryl's parents opened the store. We gathered small items from the few shelves to wrap and place under the tree. In the morning, the children opened gifts of small trinkets. One of the children put aside her gifts and declared it to be a wonderful Christmas. Without big ticket items under the tree, I was curious about what she liked the most. Hugging me, she said Christmas was special because she got to spend it with a new friend.

I thought about how depressed I felt when I thought my ex had ruined my Christmas. It is the expectations about how things should be that causes us distress. My Christmas in Deadwood taught me to appreciate what is. It is really foolish to put so much expectation onto a single day, because every day is a marvel to behold when you take the time to see it.