Henrietta Hay's Column

I did my annual holiday Mall Crawl and Main Street Saunter the first week in December. The Christmas spirit, or at least the Christmas merchandise had arrived everywhere. The decorations were up, the music was coming out of the speakers and panic had not yet hit the shoppers, some of whom were still smiling. Little kids were dashing around having a wonderful time. At the mall, those who weren't having their pictures taken with Santa Claus were gathered around a huge police motorcycle. I think I was more impressed by the cycle than the children were, since they were being charmed by a patrolman giving out kid size police badges. He obviously has kids of his own.

As usual, I spent a lot of time in the toy departments. For someone who grew up when I did, the display of toys seems like a mammoth overkill verging on the obscene, but I always look at them. I had a little trouble this year selecting the winner of the "Awful Taste in Toys Award" although here were many that made the finals. Never have I seen so many guns and monsters. The one that finally won is a doll called, "Mommy is having a baby." Mommy is definitely pregnant and the little girl (of course it will be a girl) can listen to the heartbeat and then open the velcro closure and pull out the baby. On the box it says, "Help mommy have a baby again and again." I wonder what mommy has to say about that. There is no mention of Daddy. I had some trouble with the sexism of the Rollerblade Dolls. Baby Rollerblade is a little girl wearing a short pink dress and called "Rollerblade Doll." Dude Rollerblade is a little boy in jeans and a helmet called "Rollerblade Dude."

Murphy's Christmas Laws are in fine working order. One of them is, "If you see something in a catalog in October, you can't find that catalog in December." That is a corollary of, "What you saw in the store that you didn't get, is gone when you go back for it."

Some Christmas gifts are especially memorable. One year my son John gave me a special one. A few days before Christmas he was sent home from Tope School with chicken pox. By Christmas day he was feeling pretty good, but his little brother and I were not. I had managed to reach adulthood without that childhood disease, and I did not enjoy sharing it with him. At least that year there was a lot of togetherness.

Christmas traditions tend to evolve through the years. The infamous gingerbread house has given way to fond memories. My big live tree has been replaced by a little artificial one, and the friends who help me trim it each year now get pizza instead of turkey. The feeling is the same, though. And instead of searching for non-violent and non-sexist toys for my small grandchildren, I am trying to figure out what teenagers want that costs less than the national debt.

Christmas parties add greatly to the festivities, and I love them so long as I don't have to take food that needs to be cooked. I don't even feel guilty at the potlucks at this time of year. All the other people have gotten carried away cooking up a storm, and don't seem to mind too much if I bring cheese and crackers.

Even authors are getting into the spirit of the season. There is a new mystery by Joan Hess called, "O Little Town of Maggody," and a little stocking stuffer, "Santa Clues," an anthology of mysteries edited by Martin H. Greenberg and Carol-Lynn Rossel Waugh.

Christmas music goes from the sacred to the ridiculous and the same melody can be heard in either format. This fall on public radio I heard a recording of -- you're not going to believe this -- Silent Night "sung" by selected meows of cats. I have sent for the CD, but it has not arrived yet. I'd think I imagined it, but my cancelled check came back from Jingle Cats in Hollywood. Where else? And hearing the Grand Junction and Central High School bands play Christmas carols as they marched in perfect formation was one of the high points in the Parade of Lights.

Happy Holidays to everybody.