Once again, it's that time of year, when we find ourselves barraged with the "Holiday Season". It seems to quietly stalk us, as September winds down, then all at once it pounces. As soon as the Halloween candy makes an appearance on the store shelves, you start to see little hints around the edges, that Christmas is just a blink away. (Thanksgiving, unfortunately, has become a mere "whistle stop", in the blur and flurry of the year's end.)

In the stores, the traditional colors of each individual season, have become like one of those wheel paintings, where you drop different colors of paint onto a spinning piece of paper, creating unusual spatter patterns. Instead of progressing gradually, to reflect the different celebrations as they happen, the retail industry has "glumped" them all together, resulting in one giant, gaudy feast for the eyes (and the pocketbook).

When I start to feel a bit overwhelmed by it all, I try to stop ... and remember simpler times, when all I could think about was a new toy under the Christmas tree. Of course there were the years of bikes and sleds (the big stuff), but my favorite toy was a blue dump truck I got when I was fairly small. All the other kids I played with, were getting some kind of construction vehicle that year, and I had asked for a truck I'd seen at the local Ben Franklin's (the equivalent of a modern Target store). It was a Structo Hydraulic Dumper (with white sidewalls), and I eyed it for months before finally requesting it from Santa.

Now, this is one of those toys that you wouldn't see on the shelves these days. It was made of heavy steel, with plenty of sharp edges, and places to pinch your fingers. (I learned that first hand, ... pardon the pun). It would never pass the safety codes imposed on toys these days. Still, I did manage to get through my childhood, with all the appropriate digits intact.

I remember how delighted I was when I spotted it amongst the presents under the tree, and I fairly glowed as I showed it off to my friends, when we got together to compare what Santa had brought.

Many's the time, I must have really irritated a neighbor of ours, who had pea gravel in his perfectly groomed garden. They were just the right sized rocks for my dump truck, and poured easily out the back flap, as I systematically rearranged his flower beds for him. (His son was one of my playmates, so we didn't get into too much trouble.) Boy, I just loved that truck!

Years later, my mother and I were having our traditional "What do you want for Christmas?" phone call. I had grown up, and moved on, to live my adulthood in another part of the country, but I was still expected to come home for the holidays. We had already finished the basic "How are you fixed for socks?" questioning, when I paused, ... and finally said, "I want a toy!". (Sure, there were things that I probably needed, but I suddenly missed the simple "fun" of it all.) Taken by surprise, she heartily laughed, then went back to her queries of much more practical things. I sighed and, deciding she was right, resumed my headlong plunge into a hectic holiday schedule, which culminated in the prerequisite trip home.

That Christmas morning, however, she once again managed to surprise me, when we all gathered in the family room to open presents. Under the tree, shining brightly in the pile of presents, was my dear, old dump truck. She had gone into the attic, found my old treasure, cleaned it up, and stuck a big bow on it. Suddenly, I was transformed into a little child again, and the joy of Christmas came flooding back to me. (I must have looked pretty silly, standing there with a giant grin, and tears streaming down my face.) That year, I can truthfully say, I got what I had asked for.

I still have that old, dump truck. It sits across the room, in a slightly askew wooden bookcase, where my eyes occasionally fall upon it. I may not take it out to play with much these days, but it's magnetic power on me is still strong. It brings back fond memories, of when I got it originally, ... and when I got it for the second time. The thoughts always bring a soft smile to my face, that will forever remind me of my very wise mother. She really was listening, and I know, somewhere, she's smiling too.

So this holiday season, please take the time to stop, and consider the true meaning behind all the commercial hype. Try to remember the simpler aspects of why we go through this turmoil every year, and take it back to basics when you make out your Christmas list. Instead of submitting to all the monetary shopping madness out there, consider those priceless things we should all wish for. (Perhaps you could ask for a shiny toy, ... preferably with a sweet memory attached.)

Here's Wishing Happy Holiday Trails To All!

(And I hope you get what you ask for!)