Sunday, November 21, 2004
There is an addiction as yet unrecognized by any physcologist. I admit to having been afflicted by this disorder for a number of years and have always chosen to refer to it as a "hobby", but in the last few days I've come to realize that this innocent pastime can easily become an obsession and yes, a full blown addiction. Not only that, it seems it can be passed unknowingly to others, especially close family members! Just yesterday I had to face the fact that not only was I addicted, I had somehow unwittingly infected my sister Nancy.
Some may scoff but the newest addiction is........Christmas Village collectibles!! Now, before you disolve into fits of laughter and dismiss this as a silly notion, let me lead you along the progression of this all-consuming holiday malady.
Well doctor, it all began innocently enough when my children were young. I had always loved the Christmas season and it's sparkling decorations. As a child I was fascinated by the intricate display at the Dundalk firehouse featuring running trains, lighted houses and landscaped scenes. I could spend hours just staring at the moving lights and vehicles, longing to be at the controls. Although my father had set up a train platform in our living room, it couldn't match the grand scale of the firehouse display.
Wanting to give my kids some sense of the wonder of my childhood experience, I purchased a battery operated train and some small inexpensive houses. As I set up my small village scene complete with snow (OK so it wasn't REAL snow), I declared the Christmas season had officially begun. Of course my kids had no idea of how sacred this little display was to be until one day when I returned home and, horror of horrors, found the houses had been rearranged! Hyperventilating, I put things back in order and, calming myself, explained that these were Mom's toys...look with your eyes, not your hands became the recurring chant of the season.
And in just a few short years, IT happened. The battery operated train was replaced by a large scale electric train, the little houses were joined by Department 56 collectible houses. People and trees inhabited various villages, each with a theme. Over the years, with encouragement from my husband, the Christmas display began to take on a life of it's own, growing and expanding until it took over three rooms in the house. Animated people were added, fiber-optic angels moved and glowed, ornaments on the tree revolved. Music, lights and motion were everywhere and still I denied that this was anything more than just enjoying the season. Maybe the year we put the living room furniture into storage to allow more room for the villages and constructed hanging platforms for the train tracks and North Pole should have given me the first clue that perhaps I had a serious problem. But as I explained to Nancy when she would look at me like I had completely lost my mind, devoting eight hours to making one scene as perfect and realistic as possible was just being creative. Besides, I found it as theraputic as she found gardening.
Sure, the years we had tour groups coming to see our display and found ourselves on the front of our local paper's Homes section might have been a teensy bit over the top. And so what if I started putting things up in October and left this massive display up untill Super Bowl?!! Just because the pizza delivery guy referred to us as The Christmas House and didn't need to ask the address didn't mean we were obsessed...or did it?
The light finally dawned this weekend as I shopped with my sister and her husband at a wonderful Christmas store in Florida and I watched a familiar light come into her eyes as we walked around the displays, pointing and oohing at the houses, the animation and detailed inhabitants and backgrounds. Two hours later we emerged with our purchases, sharing new ideas for scenes and babbling contentedly about Department 56 versus Lemax. Watching Nancy wrestle with the decision between the lighthouse or the train station, I looked into those bright happy eyes and said "You're addicted too!!".
Knowing that there are collectors' groups and many devotees to our particular compulsion, I think the problem is more widespread than we know. I'm sure some would suggest therapy but none is needed. You see, lovingly putting together our villages and adorning them with lights and people is our therapy. And for me, gazing at the finished product and watching the eyes of my children and granchildren light up when they enter my Christmas Wonderland fills me with a sense of joy that is well worth the effort of putting it all together. Besides, isn't there still a "little kid" inside of all of us at Christmas?
Some may scoff but the newest addiction is........Christmas Village collectibles!! Now, before you disolve into fits of laughter and dismiss this as a silly notion, let me lead you along the progression of this all-consuming holiday malady.
Well doctor, it all began innocently enough when my children were young. I had always loved the Christmas season and it's sparkling decorations. As a child I was fascinated by the intricate display at the Dundalk firehouse featuring running trains, lighted houses and landscaped scenes. I could spend hours just staring at the moving lights and vehicles, longing to be at the controls. Although my father had set up a train platform in our living room, it couldn't match the grand scale of the firehouse display.
Wanting to give my kids some sense of the wonder of my childhood experience, I purchased a battery operated train and some small inexpensive houses. As I set up my small village scene complete with snow (OK so it wasn't REAL snow), I declared the Christmas season had officially begun. Of course my kids had no idea of how sacred this little display was to be until one day when I returned home and, horror of horrors, found the houses had been rearranged! Hyperventilating, I put things back in order and, calming myself, explained that these were Mom's toys...look with your eyes, not your hands became the recurring chant of the season.
And in just a few short years, IT happened. The battery operated train was replaced by a large scale electric train, the little houses were joined by Department 56 collectible houses. People and trees inhabited various villages, each with a theme. Over the years, with encouragement from my husband, the Christmas display began to take on a life of it's own, growing and expanding until it took over three rooms in the house. Animated people were added, fiber-optic angels moved and glowed, ornaments on the tree revolved. Music, lights and motion were everywhere and still I denied that this was anything more than just enjoying the season. Maybe the year we put the living room furniture into storage to allow more room for the villages and constructed hanging platforms for the train tracks and North Pole should have given me the first clue that perhaps I had a serious problem. But as I explained to Nancy when she would look at me like I had completely lost my mind, devoting eight hours to making one scene as perfect and realistic as possible was just being creative. Besides, I found it as theraputic as she found gardening.
Sure, the years we had tour groups coming to see our display and found ourselves on the front of our local paper's Homes section might have been a teensy bit over the top. And so what if I started putting things up in October and left this massive display up untill Super Bowl?!! Just because the pizza delivery guy referred to us as The Christmas House and didn't need to ask the address didn't mean we were obsessed...or did it?
The light finally dawned this weekend as I shopped with my sister and her husband at a wonderful Christmas store in Florida and I watched a familiar light come into her eyes as we walked around the displays, pointing and oohing at the houses, the animation and detailed inhabitants and backgrounds. Two hours later we emerged with our purchases, sharing new ideas for scenes and babbling contentedly about Department 56 versus Lemax. Watching Nancy wrestle with the decision between the lighthouse or the train station, I looked into those bright happy eyes and said "You're addicted too!!".
Knowing that there are collectors' groups and many devotees to our particular compulsion, I think the problem is more widespread than we know. I'm sure some would suggest therapy but none is needed. You see, lovingly putting together our villages and adorning them with lights and people is our therapy. And for me, gazing at the finished product and watching the eyes of my children and granchildren light up when they enter my Christmas Wonderland fills me with a sense of joy that is well worth the effort of putting it all together. Besides, isn't there still a "little kid" inside of all of us at Christmas?
Friday, November 05, 2004
As I have mentioned before, my husband and I purchased a lovely retreat in Florida this past June. The first five months of what my sister and I refer to as Fla territory have proved to be an adventure in fortitude to say the least. Both my husband and I fell immediately in love with this house and community but from the beginning there were a few bugs to be worked out, starting with getting the owner to sell. Of course there is a story behind this.
My sister and her husband had spent considerable time and patience touring various areas with the husband's Mom who had expressed a desire to join the Fla ranks on her previous winter vacations in Palm Harbor. They eventually happened across this lovely 2 bedroom home in a well-kept park and the purchase was made. My husband and I had decided it was time to look for a place of our own near my sister, so naturally a good starting point was to look at the Mom's new home to give us some insight as to what might be available. Keep in mind that Mom had not as yet taken up residence in her Fla digs but was scheduled to arrive in April. My first thought as we crossed the threshold was "I want this house!!". Since it already had a new owner, I managed to keep my thoughts to myself as we proceeded to tour other homes in the same park. I admit to putting my sister to considerable trouble looking at houses for us and emailing pictures as we turned away every house she thought we'd like. As luck would have it, Mom decided to go back to Maryland and we jumped at the chance to take this property off her hands. I'm sure the Cajun gris-gris (voodoo) I mentally sent Mom had nothing to do with her decision not to remain in Fla. We happily sealed the deal in June and the adventure began that very weekend.
Those of you that have followed my mental wanderings in past blogs can recall the story of the Murphy's Law vacation I shared with my daughter and grandson. Figuring that all the kinks had been resolved, my husband and I came back to Palm Harbor in September just in time to be greeted by hurricane Frances. OK, what's one more little glitch? Granted Florida suffered through an unprecedented number of hurricanes and hurricane threats this year but, despite mutterings to the contrary, this was not precipitated by our recent purchase in Palm Harbor although the possibility does exist that my Cajun gris-gris decided to behave more like a boomerang than a targeted device.
Once more I decided to test fate and prove it wasn't me wreaking havoc in my adopted second home. I planned an October girls' getaway weekend with a good friend of mine thinking perhaps the gods would be kinder if I left my other family members at home. Just before our arrival, one of my new neighbors had asked my brother-in-law when I was due in and his immediate reaction was "Why?!! What did you see on the Weather Channel?!!". Talk about feeling like Typhoid Mary!!
I'm pleased to report that the girls' weekend went perfectly and a good time was had by all, perhaps too good a time Saturday night (Where's my Excedrin?). Firmly convinced that all hexes had been neutralized, my husband and I arrived in Palm Harbor last night with only slight trepidation. Noting that the electric was on, the air-conditioning functioning well and no signs of any tropical storms on the horizon, we settled onto the lanai to finally enjoy the contentment we sought when we purchased this home.
As I sit here in Palm Harbor writing this ( yep, I even finally got my Internet connection functioning after months of trying), I am glad to be a PTFP......Part-time Fla person!!
My sister and her husband had spent considerable time and patience touring various areas with the husband's Mom who had expressed a desire to join the Fla ranks on her previous winter vacations in Palm Harbor. They eventually happened across this lovely 2 bedroom home in a well-kept park and the purchase was made. My husband and I had decided it was time to look for a place of our own near my sister, so naturally a good starting point was to look at the Mom's new home to give us some insight as to what might be available. Keep in mind that Mom had not as yet taken up residence in her Fla digs but was scheduled to arrive in April. My first thought as we crossed the threshold was "I want this house!!". Since it already had a new owner, I managed to keep my thoughts to myself as we proceeded to tour other homes in the same park. I admit to putting my sister to considerable trouble looking at houses for us and emailing pictures as we turned away every house she thought we'd like. As luck would have it, Mom decided to go back to Maryland and we jumped at the chance to take this property off her hands. I'm sure the Cajun gris-gris (voodoo) I mentally sent Mom had nothing to do with her decision not to remain in Fla. We happily sealed the deal in June and the adventure began that very weekend.
Those of you that have followed my mental wanderings in past blogs can recall the story of the Murphy's Law vacation I shared with my daughter and grandson. Figuring that all the kinks had been resolved, my husband and I came back to Palm Harbor in September just in time to be greeted by hurricane Frances. OK, what's one more little glitch? Granted Florida suffered through an unprecedented number of hurricanes and hurricane threats this year but, despite mutterings to the contrary, this was not precipitated by our recent purchase in Palm Harbor although the possibility does exist that my Cajun gris-gris decided to behave more like a boomerang than a targeted device.
Once more I decided to test fate and prove it wasn't me wreaking havoc in my adopted second home. I planned an October girls' getaway weekend with a good friend of mine thinking perhaps the gods would be kinder if I left my other family members at home. Just before our arrival, one of my new neighbors had asked my brother-in-law when I was due in and his immediate reaction was "Why?!! What did you see on the Weather Channel?!!". Talk about feeling like Typhoid Mary!!
I'm pleased to report that the girls' weekend went perfectly and a good time was had by all, perhaps too good a time Saturday night (Where's my Excedrin?). Firmly convinced that all hexes had been neutralized, my husband and I arrived in Palm Harbor last night with only slight trepidation. Noting that the electric was on, the air-conditioning functioning well and no signs of any tropical storms on the horizon, we settled onto the lanai to finally enjoy the contentment we sought when we purchased this home.
As I sit here in Palm Harbor writing this ( yep, I even finally got my Internet connection functioning after months of trying), I am glad to be a PTFP......Part-time Fla person!!
