You may or may not claim any winter holiday as your own, but even if you do not don a Christmas sweater, light a menorah or celebrate the seven principles of Kwanzaa, when the temperature drops and the days grow short, you must feel the urge ( or pressure) to give someone in your life a gift.

According to Steve, I over-gift at the holidays.  He's right.  I do.  So did my mother before me.  My parents, Don and Nellie, worked long hard hours at The E Z Way Inn and when Nellie and I went downtown on Saturdays (after completely cleaning the house in the morning of course--no housekeeping help even for working mom Nellie in those days), we shopped like pros, zig-zagging all over town, from Schuyler to Court Street and back again.

Nellie wore a simple dress with an apron when she cooked and tended bar, but that weekday uniform belied her fashion sense. Nellie had excellent--and expensive--taste.  She only bought "good" clothes because, as she repeated often, "good clothes" never go out of style. 

One of her favorite stores in downtown Kankakee was LeCeurs.  (I'm afraid I'm misspelling that name, but it's long gone, as is Samuel's and Hecht's and Roger's Dress Shop). On our Saturday jaunts, we bought whatever caught our fancy.  There was always a stop at the Kankakee Bookstore and Matt's Toy and Hobby for me, and some clothes shopping for Nellie and maybe we'd stop in at Plant-Kergers to pick up something for my dad and brother, Emory.

At the end of our shopping, we'd stop in at Walgreens for a snack, usually pie or maybe a sundae, and also pick up some candy at Carolyn's next to the movie theater. We'd then pile into a cab (Nellie didn't drive) and head home with our loot.

If my dad raised an eyebrow at the number of bags we carried in, Nellie would look him in the eye and say,"I don't smoke, I don't drink and I don't get paid. I shop.  So what?" 

My dad always shrugged and smiled and winked at me. He knew he had a bargain with Nellie as his chief unpaid employee.  To replace her would mean hiring at least three others, none of whom would work as hard or efficiently. He knew Nellie was priceless, worth so much more than charges racked up on a Saturday afternoon in downtown Kankakee.

And at Christmas?  Nellie made sure there were tons of presents under our tree. Things to wear, things to play with, things to read--whatever we asked for and more. The psychology of the 1950's and 60's might say that Nellie compensated for not being at home with her children, but I would disagree. I think Nellie just liked to shop.  She appreciated nice things.  And the glitter and bounty of Christmas only made the shopping trips more fun.

What gift do I remember most?  The shopping trip itself, of course.  The time spent, the lessons imparted (look at the hems and seams, how the inside looks before you buy a dress), the conversation over pie. The nellieness of Nellie is what I remember best.  The story of Nellie. The character of Nellie for the novels I've written.

That's the gift I never outgrew.

Stylish Nellie before marriage and kids.