Ed. — Archived from the Sunday, Dec. 3, print edition.
VIRGINIA BEACH — It’s been an expensive year for most of us. Groceries cost a small fortune, industry strikes have squeezed budgets and interest rates are high.
Because of this, my mother proclaimed this year a “Goodwill Christmas.” We’d spend as little money as possible on gifts we could find at thrift stores or make ourselves. I felt the impending shopping and spending stress disappear. The oft-undervalued spirit of Christmas filled my heart, something Grandpa knew well and strove to teach us by example.
My grandfather liked to tinker. He always said, “If you want to get rich, build a better mousetrap.” His basement workroom was filled with things he picked up at yard sales, estate sales, auctions and second-hand shops. Shelves that covered one wall of his garage were lined with craft and shoe boxes full of the stuff, each container meticulously labeled for easy finding — Popsicle sticks, clothespins, bottle caps, random pieces of wood, tacks and nails, marbles, strings in boxes labeled according to lengths (including a box for “pieces too small to use”) and a myriad of other usable, but worthless things.
He made rocking chairs out of clothespins. Popsicle sticks became small piggy banks structured like outhouses that had to be demolished to access the savings inside. Scraps of wood morphed into tiny football and milk bottle magnets with either “Penn State,” Grandpa’s beloved alma mater, or “Chambersburg Dairy” on them to remind us of his dairyman days.
When he and Grandma had their gutters replaced one year, he made about a million mini-can openers with the scrap metal. He kept a steady supply of these in his pockets in case one of us needed such a thing while visiting with him.
During the months before Christmas, Grandpa spent most of his time in his workroom with his tools and treasures, preparing our gifts for the year. Grandpa handed each of us a bag of junk — or so he called it — on Christmas Eve, just before he fell asleep in his chair, hands clasped on his stomach and glasses sliding down his nose. Inside the bags were a pile of presents, every gift wrapped in newspaper and secured with masking tape.
There were clear plastic Energizer bunnies bought in bulk, Popsicle stick sled ornaments, 3-piece chicken dinners (a block of wood with three kernels of corn on it), and “tacks shelters” (a palm-size wooden shed with four tacks sheltered under the tiny roof). We also got reams of stickers that had nothing to do with anything, railroad ties painted gold with a family business logo on them and “dime-and-rings” (dimes glued to nail rings).
I sent a group text to my family members asking what they could recall getting from Grandpa. Almost all replied with something they still had – a Popsicle sled ornament, a milk bottle magnet, a tacks shelter, a Popsicle stick outhouse bank.
The text stories and pictures went back and forth for days. I found myself belly-laughing at the memories of the many gifts Grandpa made and shared over the years and surprised on occasion by how much work must have gone into the bags Grandpa filled for us. I may not have kept much of that stuff, but the memories are too precious to discard.
I don’t recall ever finding a better mousetrap in my junk bag on Christmas Eve, but I know my Grandpa had the right idea about building wealth. He was a self-made man who put himself through college and owned a thriving dairy business. He knew that wealth was not to be found in the pricey items accumulated from year to year.
There was a treasure trove for us in the simple and inexpensive things he found when he went prize-hunting or made by hand and gave from the heart.
What’s more, he understood the immeasurable riches we share in the memories about them. Perhaps this is why I was so excited when my mother suggested a Goodwill Christmas.
I knew we would hit the road on a thrift store bargain hunt. We’ll spend next weekend traveling the city searching for cheap gifts for family members who won’t know what’s coming. The day will be a memory I’ll take to the bank.
Grandpa would be proud.
The author is a former Virginia Beach Planning Commissioner and college professor. Reach her at leejogger@gmail.com.
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