My late mother-in-law Dorothy was a child of the Depression. She’d grown up in a Pennsylvania steel town, married young and never worked outside the home or even learned to drive. Dot was widowed young too, left to raise five children on her own–the oldest being my husband, who was 15 when his father died, and the youngest his seven-year-old baby sister. To say that she was a woman of tremendous spirit, and unstinting faith, is an understatement. Despite the fact that she didn’t drive, I can’t remember a Sunday she didn’t manage to somehow make it to Mass. There was no football or baseball game missed, no swim meet skipped if her children were involved. She was a band booster, a PTA stalwart, a constant presence in the football concession stand. I used to tease her relentlessly about being a “career athletic supporter.” She perfected the art of making do and positive thinking. An expert seamstress, she took in sewing to help make ends meet, and baked thousands of cookies and sweets at Christmas to give as gifts. God love her, she could squeeze a penny ’til it squeaked. Dot was a coupon-clipper extraordinaire. You could always tell if she’d been in your house, because the cans had all been stripped of their labels for couponing purposes. And woe be to you if you threw away an empty cookie tin or a used butter wrapper–“Honey, save that!” was her cry, as she rifled through your kitchen trashcan. At Christmas, she was in her element. She’d saved up all her Crisco and Dixie Crystals coupons, had stashed away bags of chocolate chips bought on special at Publix (her happy place), and in the garage, she had a mountain of Tupperware tubs and holiday tins bought at yard-sales for pennies and nickels, for just such re-gifting purposes. Her oven was ancient and unpredictable, with a door that routinely fell off, but still, Dot managed to turn out her masterpiece cookie trays. Nut roll, a sweet yeast bread with ground pecan filling was her specialty, but then there also the peanut blossoms, date pinwheels, meringues, wedding cookies, congo bars, bird’s nests, jelly-filled thumbprints, and her trademark confection–the lady locks–a flaky puff pastry creation baked around a wooden rod and piped with a cream filling.
When it came to gifting, she was just as thrifty. Every year, the weekend after Thanksgiving, her sons would be directed to put up a ladder to gain access to the “attic” crawl space. Down would come the cartons of ornaments, and more importantly, the boxes of boxes. Of course, Dot saved wrapping paper and ribbon and tissue year-round, but the boxes were her triumph. A gift box at Dot’s house had the half-life of plutonium, which meant that every year you could count on taking a sentimental stroll down retail lane.
Kaufmann’s in downtown Pittsburgh
These days, I rarely shop at Macy’s, the entity that also swallowed Rich’s. It’s infantile, but like a lot of other people in Atlanta, I’m still pissed at Macy’s for doing away with the Rich’s name. (I’m pretty sure Chicagoans are also still holding a grudge against Macy’s for doing away with Marshall-Fields.) I like Talbot’s, and their pretty and substantial red gift boxes. And I admit to shopping at Marshall’s and TJMaxx, lured by the promise of low prices. But the discount stores are charmless, and they don’t give you gift boxes, not that I’d want to flaunt that TJ logo anyway. So out come the old Rich’s boxes, augmented by the occasional Orvis or the rare Bloomingdale boxes. The recipients know, and I know they know, their gift probably didn’t come from Bloomies. Or maybe it did. I’ll never tell! And I also know that sometime Christmas morning, when he thinks I’m not looking, my husband will try to slide the used gift boxes into the fireplace along with the wrapping paper. And I know I’ll find myself stopping him, hear myself crying, “Honey, save that!”
What a sweet tribute to your MIL. Don't get me started on Rich's demise.
I come from a long line of box savers myself – my mom, my grandmom. I sneak mine back into the "decoration closet" every year after gifts are opened. I sure miss those downtown department stores – the mall stores just don't have the charm. Rome used to have a local department store called Essermans. All moms of brides bought their dresses there from the room in the back where such dresses were housed. I guess it finally closed mid to late eighties. If you ever get to Oxford MS, there is still one great old downtown department store called Neilson's (sp?)on the square. It will take you back
I'm the keeper of the family boxes, although I seldom use them myself. Every year, my brother drops by with a paper grocery bag stuffed with them to "store" for him until the next Christmas rolls around. Why do I do this? Beats me, but it's tradition.
I have some boxes I don't let go of, though. They're from Sibley's and McCurdy's which were eaten up by Bon-Ton and Kaufmann's back in the 70s–and now Kaufmann's is Macy's. *Sigh* It's never ending. (So who do we think will buy out Macy's?)
My mom saved boxes for Christmas every year also. You never saw the actual box though. She always wrapped the lid and wrapped the bottom. The ribbon would be taped under the lid so that all you had to do was lift the lid. Paper and ribbon intact. The boxes were grabbed up and put back into the attic to be reused the following year. I forgot all about that until reading your story. Thanks for the memories!
Nice Story, brings back memories…I too have a few saved boxes. My favorites are Thalhimer's (jewelry from college years), Garfinkel's and Woodward & Lothrop. From the DC area, it was always a great treat to go shopping with Grandma and my mother. I do miss those department stores.