That time of year is rolling around again. You know – when we are bombarded with catalogues and advertising to buy this or that for Christmas giving. I reared four kids so I well remember those TV ads aimed at youngsters that made toys look like much more fun than they really were.

No TV when I grew up in Rock Springs, but we looked forward to the Christmas catalogues from Sears and Montgomery Wards. Yet, my parents often came up with better gifts than we knew existed. I remember a robe Mom made for me when I was about 11; she even found slippers to match. Jack got the “boy things” – like a BB gun, small jigsaw and a fly rod. Would you believe I didn’t have fishing gear of my own until I was in my 40s? I’m still trying to make up for lost time.

Christmases were slim pickings during World War II. Not due to lack of money; there were no toys to buy. What were available were made of printed cardboard, think fit-together jeeps and tanks, or dolls with molded sawdust heads. My dad worked at Hill Air Base then, repairing damaged war planes. He and other fellows at the plant got together to make toys for their kids from scraps. Jack and I got cutout stick horses on wheels with a small box mounted above the wheels. Plexiglass was a new material and we each got a cube bank, made so the sides were slotted to fit together – with our names painted on them, no less. Jack got cars made from wood and I got doll furniture.

Both sets of grandparents created gifts for my kids; crocheted ponchos, vests or three-dimensional pictures, carefully cut and glued. My mom made sets of doll clothes for my girls’ Dawn dolls, which they still cherish. I picked up on this for my kids and then the grandkids.

For the granddaughter who is crazy about horses, I made a stuffed palomino complete with long mane and tail; Grandpa created the bridle and reins. Another granddaughter got an appliqued Cat in the Hat sweatshirt. Her brother wanted Pokémon figures on his. The clinker was the little one who insisted her sweatshirt be decorated with my Yorkie, Gypsy. That one took some doing.

The homemade ones always seem to be hits, whether a Frostline down vest or travel bags with umpteen pockets. One year I made down parkas for my dad and father-in-law. Last year two granddaughters (sisters) each received quilted tree skirts. Stumped for something for my younger son a couple years ago, I made him a photo album. Being the youngest I knew he did not have pictures from his “growing-up” years. It was fun to sort through the photos to locate his. I copied them on my computer and mounted them in a scrapbook with stories to accompany them. I don’t know who was more pleased – John or his wife, to see her husband growing up.

John, an engineer, is artistically talented also. I have an owl scratch board he did while still in high school. His principal offered to buy it, but he said, “No, it’s for my mom for Christmas.” He did a detailed pencil drawing of my late husband’s mule one Christmas – looks like a photograph.

I believe homemade gifts are truly special. After all, aren’t each one of a kind made just for that person. When you think about it, no on else in the world has one like yours. I love it when it comes full circle. I have a large cross-stitch picture hanging in my entry done by my daughter Marilee. Below a branch on which odd sizes of owls are perched is this: “There’s always room for one more.” She was referring to how she, her brother and her sister would haul college chums home for holidays or weekends. My other daughter crocheted a rose bed covering for me not long after she learned to crochet.

Over the past several years my sister began making felted wool mittens. When I buy a new winter coat, I let her know what color mittens would go best. She is quite clever and artsy. I have a door harp and jointed bear she did when into tole painting. One year she took up basketry; a heart-shaped one hangs above my printer. Years back during her foray into cross stitching, I got one featuring a gnome with these words, “To gnome is to love me.”

On my last birthday a gift from Marilee made me think of my mom who loved to embroider pillowcases and dish towels: two dishtowels hand-done with hummingbirds – a bit of déjà vu. Other gifts have come and gone, worn out or been discarded. The created ones remain. Most everyone can create something. So, if you are trying to think of gifts for someone this year, consider making something for giving. n

Mary Louise