‘Tis the season when we view, with a sigh, those Currier and Ives images of rosy-cheeked children skating on a picturesque pond, families in velvet finery seated around a table laden with a massive roast turkey with all the trimmings, and peaceful snowflakes floating gently around smiling couples riding on horse-drawn sleighs.
The images clash with 2023 reality.
Reality is a plastic Christmas tree decorated with mismatched ornaments, a purple feather boa, and a small cat that hisses like a tea kettle when anyone discovers her hiding place on a high branch between a Grinch toy and a nutcracker that looks like it has been through the wars.
Reality is kids who are apparently gorilla-glued to their cell phones, too many squishy-sentimental holiday movies, and the occasional visit from relatives who prefer their rum and eggnog without the eggnog.
Reality, for many of us, includes trying to set up a video call with a loved one serving overseas with the military or a humanitarian aid group; juggling dinner around the schedules of assorted firefighters, nurses, plow operators, paramedics, police officers, taxi drivers and restaurant servers; and assuring a sobbing child that Santa will not put him on the “naughty” list for calling his brother Grinch-vomit.
Reality is the annual nostalgic barrage of holiday music that starts too early, the panicked shopping that starts too late, the bank account that is a bit too empty for comfort, and the snow that arrives about the time the kids head back to school, leaving sleds and skis in pristine glory in the garage.
In truth, the Currier and Ives prints told the story of Christmas celebrations that were based on artistic imagination, not reality.
Reality was getting up in darkness on Christmas Day and dressing in one’s warmest clothes to go milk the cows and feed the livestock.
The elegant meal in front of people dressed in velvet and lace took days and an army of servants to prepare and serve. The servants would have their celebration the next day – Boxing Day – when they would go to their own homes with boxes of goodies from their employers.
The merry games and outdoor activities pictured in Currier and Ives prints showed a reality that never was. Most of us live a much healthier, more comfortable lifestyle than both the folks in velvet finery, and their overworked servants.
Had those images from the past been real, a tragic number of those rosy-cheeked children would have died by age five of tuberculosis, diarrhea, diphtheria, influenza, pneumonia or other illnesses we now consider treatable or preventable. Many would have ended their education when they were barely able to read and write. None would have hoped to live in a house with central heating, indoor plumbing, or a refrigerator containing out-of-season strawberries, crisp lettuce, and milk guaranteed safe to drink. Or a cell phone to play games on and converse with friends a continent away. Or a playful pet that climbs the Christmas tree and chews on the ornaments.
Our Christmas 2023 does not look like a Currier and Ives print, and for that we are grateful. We can celebrate according to family or cultural traditions, or create our own traditions. Our Christmas dinner might be soup from a Thermos, fresh lobster or even turkey. We might consume it alone, with friends and family, or with co-workers. After dinner we might attend a religious service, play road hockey, or walk through the neighbourhood admiring the lawn displays that vary from beautiful to wacky.
The one thing Christmas 2023 has in common with Currier and Ives prints is the element of wonder. Whether one is religious or not, there is something in the air at Christmas – call it excitement if you will, or anticipation, or something so special it is beyond words.
Let this be a holiday wish, that you and those you love enjoy your own truly special Christmas. Currier and Ives prints are pretty, but they are not, and never were, models of what Christmas should be.
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Pauline Kerr is a Local Journalism Initiative Reporter currently working for Midwestern Newspapers. She can be reached at pkerr@midwesternnewspapers.com.
