Have you ever chuckled amidst the chaos of Christmas gift-wrapping, wondering if your presents will reveal the thought you poured into them or just your lack of tape-wrangling skills? Gather around as Mrs. Brewster and her friend Nancy Wells turn the daunting task of wrapping presents into an impromptu holiday gathering, sharing laughter and stories while boxing up bundles of joy for the elusive "Fir Tree Cousins." Through the tangles of ribbon and paper, we shed light on the hilariety and heart of picking out just the right gifts for people you've never met, and the shared sense of camaraderie that makes the holiday season sparkle.
Meanwhile, Tom draws us into his world with a tale that reminds us all it's not the gift, but the thought that counts. His cherished memories of a past Christmas with cousins Henry and Lucy, where modest tokens exchanged and simple moments shared led to a lifetime of warm recollections, illustrate the profound impact of genuine connections. Anne’s mix-up with gifts, leading to a heartfelt thank you note, stirs a poignant reflection on the true meaning of gift-giving. As the episode unwraps, Anne and Tom's resolve to reconnect with their distant relatives not just through parcels, but in person, emerges as an inspiring plan to infuse more sincerity into their festive traditions. So, plug in your fairy lights, sit back with a warm cup of cocoa, and join us in rediscovering the joy that comes from giving with intention and celebrating connections this holiday season.
Have you ever chuckled amidst the chaos of Christmas gift-wrapping, wondering if your presents will reveal the thought you poured into them or just your lack of tape-wrangling skills? Gather around as Mrs. Brewster and her friend Nancy Wells turn the daunting task of wrapping presents into an impromptu holiday gathering, sharing laughter and stories while boxing up bundles of joy for the elusive "Fir Tree Cousins." Through the tangles of ribbon and paper, we shed light on the hilariety and heart of picking out just the right gifts for people you've never met, and the shared sense of camaraderie that makes the holiday season sparkle.
Meanwhile, Tom draws us into his world with a tale that reminds us all it's not the gift, but the thought that counts. His cherished memories of a past Christmas with cousins Henry and Lucy, where modest tokens exchanged and simple moments shared led to a lifetime of warm recollections, illustrate the profound impact of genuine connections. Anne’s mix-up with gifts, leading to a heartfelt thank you note, stirs a poignant reflection on the true meaning of gift-giving. As the episode unwraps, Anne and Tom's resolve to reconnect with their distant relatives not just through parcels, but in person, emerges as an inspiring plan to infuse more sincerity into their festive traditions. So, plug in your fairy lights, sit back with a warm cup of cocoa, and join us in rediscovering the joy that comes from giving with intention and celebrating connections this holiday season.
Welcome to another special holiday broadcast. Gather the family and enjoy this Christmas story, the Fur Tree Cousins by Lucretia D Clapp. Pretty Mrs Brewster sat in the middle of her bedroom floor, surrounded by a billowy mass of tissue paper, layers of cotton, batting, bits of ribbon, tinsel and tags. She was tying up packages of various shapes and sizes, placing each one, when finished, in a heaped-up pile at one side. Her face was flushed, wisps of cotton clung to her dress and hair and she glanced up anxiously now and then at the little clock on the desk as it ticked off the minutes of the short December afternoon. I'll never be through never. She remarked disconsolently after one of these hurried glances. And there's the box for Cousin Henry's family that just must go tonight, and the home box. Oh, nancy Wells. She broke off suddenly as she caught sight of a slender little figure standing in the doorway surveying her with merry brown eyes. Nancy Wells, come right in here. You're as welcome as the day after Christmas. So you've reached that stage, have you Anne? The visitor laughed as she picked her way carefully across the littered floor to an inviting wicker chair near the fire. Yes, I have. You know. I always began to feel that way just about this time, nancy, only it seems to be a might worse than usual this year.
Speaker 1:
Anne Brewster stretched out one cramped foot and groaned here I am just slaving while you. Well, you look, the very personification of elegant leisure. I suspect every single one of those 49 presents on your regular list is wrapped and tied and labeled and mailed to. If mailed, it has to be. Well, you can just take off your coat and hat, nancy, fold yourself up, turk, like on the floor here and help me out. I have an appointment at 4.30, and it's nearly that now. I'm not nearly through, but I must finish today. If there's one thing I'm particular about, nancy, it is that a gift shall reach the recipient on time.
Speaker 1:
For my part, I don't want a Christmas present a week old, so to speak, nor even a day, and somehow I always manage to get mine off, even if I do half kill myself doing it. Do your Christmas shopping early, quoted Nancy mischievously as she seated herself obediently on the floor. Yes, and only five more shopping days? Anne smiled ruefully. Why don't you go on? Those well-meant little reminders I've had flaunted in my face every time I've stepped into a store or picked up a daily paper. For the past six weeks they have come to be as familiar as the street sign out there on that lamppost and receive about the same amount of attention too. Well, after all, anne, it is a delightful sort of rush now, isn't it? I'm willing to admit that I'd miss it dreadfully.
Speaker 1:
Nancy Wells looked about her appreciatively at the chintz hung room, glowing in the warmth of an open wood fire and with its pleasant disarray of snowy paper and bright ribbons. My, but that's a lovely package, she remarked as Anne cut a square of tissue paper and measured a length of silver cord. And what a clever idea that is. I should never have thought of using cotton batting and a sprinkling of diamond dust for the top layer. Well, you see, nancy, this is for cousin Harriet. She has everything anyone could possibly wish for, and she always sends me such beautiful things that I make a special effort to have my gift to her as dainty as possible and a little different.
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Anne paused and glanced at the clock. My, look, what time it is. I'll have to go. I wonder if you'd just as soon stay, nancy, and finish up that little pile over there by the couch there for the fir tree cousins down on the farm. The fir tree cousins, whatever do you mean, anne?
Speaker 1:
Anne laughed happily as she stood up and shook off the bits of tinsel and ribbon from her skirt. Oh, I always call them that in fun. She explained they're Tom's cousins that live down in Maine. The idea struck me, I suppose, because theirs is the country of the pointed firs. You know, I've never seen any of them, but I've always sent them a box at Christmas ever since I've been married. What fun, nancy exclaimed enthusiastically. How many are there and what do you send them? I don't know that I should call it fun exactly. Anne answered dubiously.
Speaker 1:
This buying gifts for people you've never seen and only know by hearsay, is well not unalloyed. Let's see, there are cousin Henry and cousin Lucy, then the boys Alec and Joe and little Henry and one girl, louise, who is just between the two older boys, and oh yes, there's Grandma Lewis, cousin Lucy's mother, and ticked off the names on her fingers. Yes, there are just seven of them. Tom says they have a fine farm. He used to go there summers when he was a boy. He just adores cousin Lucy and actually wanted to take me down there on our wedding trip.
Speaker 1:
You can't accuse me of procrastination as far as they are concerned, nancy, for I always buy their things long before any of the others. You see, I usually know just about what I'm going to send each one. I hit upon a certain thing and stick to it as nearly as possible every year. It's easier. Why, anne, you don't give them the very same thing year after year? I hope Nancy looked up and comical dismay. Well, why not? Anne demanded a trifle sharply. Take cousin Henry, for instance. I usually get a nice warm muffler for him because I'm sure he can. But I should think Nancy interrupted my dear. It's just freezing cold there. They have terrible winters and one needs mufflers and more mufflers. You can't have too many.
Speaker 1:
Then I nearly always pick out an apron of some kind for cousin Lucy. One can't have too many aprons either, especially when she does all her own work. For Grandma Lewis I'd choose a bag or something to put her knitting in. This year I found some sort of an affair for holding the yarn. I didn't understand it very well myself, although they told me it was perfectly simple, but I thought an experienced knitter like Grandma Lewis would know how to use it. Lewis is just 16, so it's easy enough to select a pair of stockings or a handkerchief for her. As for the boys, alec and Joe, I always get them neckties they can't have too many, you know and for little Henry a game or toy of some kind. Then Tom adds a box of candy.
Speaker 1:
Promptly, one week after Christmas I receive a perfectly proper, polite letter from cousin Lucy, thanking me on behalf of every member of the Fur Tree household. It does sound a bit perfunctory, doesn't it, nancy? Sort of a cut and dried performance all around. Somehow Christmas is getting to be more and more like that every year, don't you think so? I must confess I'm glad, positively relieved when it's over. I'm always a wreck, mentally as well as physically".
Speaker 1:
Nancy made no comment. Instead she just pointed with the scissors to a heap of large and small packages over at one side. What do you want done with those, anne? Oh, they go in the home box. That has to go tonight too. I was just starting to tie them up. Do you suppose you'd have time for them too? Nancy, dear, I know I'm just imposing on you. You just put the two piles on my bed when you finished wrapping, will you? Then Tom can pack them after dinner. Now I'm off. Goodbye and thanks Offly.
Speaker 1:
A minute later, nancy Wells heard the front door slam. Then the house settled down to an empty quiet, broken only by the rustling of tissue paper and the click of scissors. As Nancy folded and cut and measured and snipped, the fire burned to a bed of dull embers, and beyond the small square window panes, the snow-lit landscape darkened to dusk. There, said Nancy, as she gave a final pat to the last bow. And how pretty they looked too, she added, leaning back to survey her handiwork. Then she carried them over to the bed and arranged them in two neat piles. Certainly looks like Merry Christmas, all right. With which remark she put on her coat and hat and went home.
Speaker 1:
It was several hours later that Anne Brewster surveyed, with weariness compounded with relief, the empty spaces on bed and floor. The last label had been pasted on, while Tom stood by with hammer and nails, ready to perform the final offices. And the two boxes, the one for the fir tree cousins down on the main farm, the other for Anne's own family in Michigan, were now on their way to the downtown office. And now that's over for another year at least. She sighed, and I'm too tired to care much whether those boxes reach their destination safely or not. Twelve months from tonight, in all probability, I shall be sitting in this same spot making that very same remark. And I used to just love Christmas too.
Speaker 1:
Anne Brewster she was Anne Martin then had been brought up in a family where there had been little money to spare even for necessities. Nevertheless, mr and Mrs Martin had always contrived to make the day and the season itself one of happy memories for their four children. No elaborate celebration of later years ever held quite the same degree of delight and anticipation shared then by every member of the family. Anne recalled the weeks brimful of plans and mysterious secrets that preceded the day itself, with all its simple gifts and its spirit of peace and goodwill toward all. Now it was so different.
Speaker 1:
Tired Anne, a masculine voice broke in on her reverie and Tom's broad-shouldered figure filled the doorway. Cheer up, the boxes are on their way, or should be shortly, and a few days more we'll see the season's finish. That's just it, tom. We're losing this spirit of Christmas, the simplicity and good wishes I mean. That used to be the big thing about it. Tom whistled thoughtfully, and when he spoke his voice had lost its merry banter. I guess you're right there, anne. We're certainly a long way off from the old days of five-cent horns and candy canes. A lot of that was youth, of course, but just the same, this modern deal is all wrong. It's a selfish proposition as I look at it.
Speaker 1:
I don't believe I've ever told you, anne, about a certain Christmas of mine long ago, about the nicest I've ever known. Where was it? Do you mean at home? Anne looked up interested. No, tom's voice changed and a shadow crossed his face. You know I never had much of a home, anne. My parents both died when I was only a little chap and I was sort of parceled out to various relatives for different seasons of the year. No, this Christmas I'm thinking of was with cousin Henry and cousin Lucy. Strange, I haven't told you before. I knew you spent your summers there. Anne answered a little curiously, but I've never heard of you being there for Christmas. Well, I was and I've never forgotten it. It was my first glimpse of what a real homey Christmas can be.
Speaker 1:
The tree was just a homemade affair, that is, the trimmings. We cut the tree ourselves a beautiful, slender fir and hauled it down on a sled from the hill back of the house. We popped corn and made wreaths, strung cranberries and cut stars out of colored paper. And I tell you that tree was pretty. It wasn't glittering with ornaments and blazing with candles or electric lights. Did you have presents, asked Anne. Yes, I remember. Cousin Henry gave me a pair of homemade snowshoes, grandma Lewis had knit some red mittens for me and cousin Lucy a cap to match. I was the happiest boy in the state of Maine.
Speaker 1:
Tom paused a moment, but somehow, anne, what I remember most was the spirit of the day itself. Cousin Lucy had worked hard, I know, and in the evening had a lot of neighbors in, but she was the life of the crowd. Anne, I'd like you to meet and really know cousin Lucy. I wish she'd ask us to visit them sometime. Somehow I never supposed. Anne began hesitatingly, supposed what Tom asked. Well, I guess I never gave your fir tree cousins much thought. Tom, I didn't think you cared particularly. You've never talked much about them nor made any effort to. Yes, I know Tom broke in, and more is the shame to me too. It's curious sometimes that, no matter how much you may think of people, you just sort of drift apart. But you'd better get to bed now, anne. You look tired to death.
Speaker 1:
The Thomas Brewsters faced each other across the breakfast table the morning after New Year's there was a pile of letters beside Anne's plate. I know exactly what's in every one of these missives. She sighed. Tom smiled as he opened his morning paper. There was a silence for several minutes while Anne slowly sliced the seals one by one. She picked up a square white envelope that bore her father's well-known handwriting, and a minute later a sudden exclamation made Tom look up. Why, tom, tom, brewster".
Speaker 1:
Ann's eyes glanced down the single page. Then she began to read aloud my dear Ann, perhaps you won't remember it, but you gave me a muffler for Christmas once, long ago, when you were a very little girl. You picked it out yourself and I'll say this that you showed remarkably good taste. That muffler, or what's left of it, is tucked away somewhere in the attic. Now the one you sent this year gives me almost as much pleasure as did that one, although I suppose I'll have to concede that these new styles are really prettier but not any warmer or more useful than the old. Your mother thinks they must be coming back into favor again, but I don't care whether they are or not. They're warm and they help keep a clean color clean. For my part, I'm glad we're getting away from the showy Christmases of the last few years and down to a simpler, saner giving and receiving. Lots of love and thanks to you and Tom.
Speaker 1:
Father Ann drew forth a small folded sheet that had been tucked inside the other one. It read Dear Ann, I'm just going to add a line to put in with your fathers, for we have a house full of company and there's no time for a real letter. Your box this year, although something of a surprise, was nonetheless welcome. I have thought for several years that we ought all of us, to give simpler gifts. A remembrance, no matter how small, if carefully and thoughtfully chosen to meet the need or desire of the recipient, carries with it more of the real Christmas spirit than the costliest gift or one chosen at random. I don't know when I've had an apron given me before I began to think they had gone out of fashion. I put yours right on and your father said it made him think of when you children were little.
Speaker 1:
The boys will write you themselves, but I'll just say that Ned and Harold both remarked that they were glad you sent them neckties. You know we've always tried to think up something different, with the result that both are rather low on that article. We've had lots of fun with Hugh's game. He confided to me that he's been hoping somebody would give him one. So you see, ann dear, we are all pleased with our things and send you our grateful thanks. Love to you both from mother PS.
Speaker 1:
I was afraid my letter telling you of Aunt Cordelia's arrival had not reached you in time, but I need not have worried. She was much taken with that case for holding her yarn. She had had one and lost it, and Katie was real pleased with that pretty handkerchief. With a hand that trembled a little and with burning cheeks, ann drew forth the last letter in the pile. It was postmarked main and contained two plain line sheets, tablet size. This is from cousin Lucy. Ann began A strange little note creeping into her voice.
Speaker 1:
My dear Ann, when we opened your box on Christmas morning I thought I had never seen anything so attractive. Seals and ribbons and greetings may not seem so much, perhaps, to you city people, but for us isolated ones they add a great deal to our enjoyment and appreciation. Your gifts fulfilled certain long felt desires, one or two of which, I suspect, are older than you are, ann. Perhaps you cannot understand the joy of receiving something you've always wanted yet did not really need. I am writing with my beautiful pen before me on the table. You see, it is the first one, the first really nice pen I've ever owned. That is fulfilled desire number one. The second is the sight of your cousin Henry enjoying a bit of leisure before the fire with his new book. I suppose Tom may have told you that once, as a young man, your cousin Henry made this very trip to the headwaters of the Peace River. So few new and worthwhile books find their way to us.
Speaker 1:
Louise and the boys will write later, so I'll only say that Alec actually takes his big flashlight to bed with him. Joe is inordinately proud of that safety razor. And as for little Henry, well, his father and I both feel that we ought to thank you on our own behalf For all. Our efforts to make an out-of-door lad of him seem to have failed hitherto. He is the student of the family, but the new skates lure him outside and help to strike the proper balance. Louise loves her beaded bag, as indeed what girl wouldn't. And as for Grandma Lewis, she fairly flaunts that bit of rose point. She confided to me that at 80 years she had at last given up all hope of ever possessing a piece of real lace.
Speaker 1:
I have written a long letter, but I doubt if, after all, I've really succeeded in expressing even a small part of our appreciation to you and Tom for your carefully chosen gifts. To feel that a certain thing has been chosen especially for you, to fit your own individuality and particular desire, if not always need, this, it has always seemed to me, is the true spirit of Christmas, and I think you have found it, anne. Before closing, I want to ask if you and Tom can't arrange to make us a visit this summer, wishing you both a happy new year lovingly, cousin Lucy. Anne Brewster laid down the letter with something that was half a sob and half a laugh. I'm just too ashamed to live. Why, what's the matter, anne? Tom looked puzzled. Cousin Lucy speaks of my carefully chosen gifts, and they weren't at all. They weren't even meant for any of them. You see Anne swallowed the lump in her throat. I've always just chosen their things at random.
Speaker 1:
Yes, I have, tom, one of those Christmas obligations you spoke of the other night, to be disposed of with as little time and effort as possible. And then last week, when I was hurrying to get everything off. Nancy Wells came over and I left a ton of things for her to finish wrapping while I dashed off to the dressmakers and I suppose in some way I got the fir tree cousins and the home pile mixed. Tom pushed back his chair from the table. Seems to me, anne dear, that we've had the answer to our query what's wrong with Christmas? You've sort of stumbled upon the truth this year. But Tom stopped whistling thoughtfully as he drew on his overcoat. There was a misty light in Anne's eyes as she stood beside him. When will you have your vacation, tom? August probably. Well, we're going to spend it with our fir tree cousins and Tom. I can hardly wait the End.