Joy of Christmas

My mother-in-law and I have a Christmas tradition that I appreciate more with each passing year. It is not a fancy custom, but it is one I treasure.

My mother-in-law gives me wonderful socks every year for Christmas. Usually three pairs or more. I don’t know where Bea finds them, but I adore them. This is the quintessential perfect gift, for me, for I am a sock lover. As my daughter Lucy is a dress and tights kinds of gal, I am a socks and jeans woman. And I love great socks.

My friend Jessica gave me a pair of argyle socks for Christmas in high school that I wore until the wear-holes were bigger than the foot-hole. (You know, the only hole a sock is supposed to have – the one you slide your foot in.) My mother used to give me a pair of red and white or pink and white socks for Valentine’s Day. Now Bea gives me socks every Christmas and, remarkably enough, the socks keep getting better, which I appreciate mightily of late.

When Bill and I get rich – it should be any day now – perhaps we can do something about raising the temperature of the floors in the Old Beauty.

I am not sure exactly how we would do that, because they are hardwood. I, like most lovers of older homes, adore my hardwood floors. But hardwood floors, even with carpeted stairs and area rugs, tend to be chilly during the New England winter. I have seen, in This Old House magazine, many high-tech solutions to this heating problem, such as running tubing full of hot water between the subfloor and the existing wood floor. I considered this a fabulous idea until Bill explained that doing so would probably cost more than our previous house, the Little Cottage on the Souhegan.

There are other solutions I can envision: We could get some kind of secondary heating system, like a woodstove. Or, we could give our natural gas supplier half ownership of the place in exchange for unmetered gas usage during our long (OK, not so long this year) cold winters. But, instead of having to complicate things, I just pull on a pair of Christmas socks.

I’m wearing some right now. They are an outrageous hot pink – just looking at them warms me up – with white polka dots. I do not know what they are made of, and I have never felt anything quite like this before. They are not wool, because wool makes me itch the moment it touches my body. Not wool. Or silk. It’s some kind of ultra-soft fiber that is like walking on clouds. I feel like I have a kitten on each foot – my feet begin to purr when I slip these babies on.

I love last year’s edition, as well, which were velour, jewel-toned ankle socks. Have you ever worn velour socks? They are wonderfully soft and cozy, and breathable, as well. These were my favorite socks until this year’s arrived. Pairs in fuchsia, dark purple and blue, which is perfect for winter, especially decorated with little white snowflakes as they are.

What I do wonder as I wear my glorious socks is this: How does my mother-in-law find these incredible socks in Kentucky every year when I can’t find socks around here that I like for squat?

Which has just triggered my next great idea: I’m going into business with my mother-in-law. We’ll open an imported socks store in downtown Nashua. I’ll have her out every day buying and boxing up socks in Kentucky – you know, they’re cheap there because hillbillies go barefoot – and shipping them north.

A girl can dream, can’t she?

Comments are closed.