Counting the Days

As you may know by now, I had an idyllic childhood with doting parents who spoiled me rotten. At Christmas, Santa left me plenty of loot: that electric train you’ve read about, an Easy Bake Oven and a Littlest Angel Doll with clothes handmade by my mother. I even received things I didn’t ask for like an easel with a chalkboard and a fabulous dollhouse, inspected in the picture by my next-door pal, Gwennie.

But it seems that I was actually deprived, because I never owned an Advent Calendar, nor had I heard of one. I have a feeling my mother hadn’t either, or I’d have surely had one. Although marking the days till Christmas is an ancient tradition, the commercial market for paper calendars got a boost when the Richard Sellmer company, based in Stuttgart, Germany, was granted a license to produce them in 1946. According to New Yorker magazine, from that time until 1998, they produced 230 varieties with different pictures, some tailor made for various countries.

I remember buying them for my girls, but they were relatively benign affairs, with little windows opening to reveal a picture of some holiday item, like a candle or a holly leaf. Once I had grandchildren, I discovered the more modern ones, with a tiny piece of chocolate behind each door. Thinking I’d be elected to the Grandmother Hall of Fame, I bought them for my three grandkids. My grandson cut to the chase and opened all his windows on the first day he had the thing, making himself sick on the chocolate. So much for my canonization. In fact, I was lucky to escape scalping by their mother.

These days it seems there are hundreds of varieties out there, with coffees, puzzles, tiny scented candles, caviar, macarons, and chili oils, among others. The Bonne Maman company offers one with a tiny jar of jam to open each day, for only $54.99, while the Flaviar company offers curated whiskeys for the mere sum of $270. I notice, also, that the offerings on the internet now have clearance prices. Hmm, maybe now’s the time to shop for next year.  

My granddaughter must have known of my blighted childhood and decided to rectify the situation. During her freshman year at the University of Wisconsin, she sent us an Advent Calendar the size of a cupboard, containing only things made in Wisconsin. We enjoyed fudge, chocolate, popcorn, honey, and even small, vacuum-packed smoked sausages. Now I feel like Scarlet O’Hara from Gone with the Wind, “So help me God, I’ll never go hungry again.”