Thursday, December 4, 2025 – Day 478
Thursday, December 4, 2025
Good morning, everyone.
Let’s not talk about ALS, let’s talk about stockings…not just any stockings, but Christmas stockings.
Growing up, my mom, whom I called Sally, hand-knitted every stocking that hung by our fireplace. They were all identical except for the name stitched across the top, and to us, they were perfect.
As kids, we had a Christmas Eve ritual. Each child would hang their stocking on the line using a clothespin…one at a time, from oldest to youngest. Some years, Dad would break out the oversized movie camera with the 1,000-watt light bulb and blind us into oblivion. The second he flipped that switch, you’d throw your hand over your eyes. That spotlight caused more damage than staring at a total eclipse.
On Christmas morning, we reversed the process and the youngest took their fully loaded stocking down first. Then, one at a time, we’d all sit and watch what Santa tucked inside. You could always guess the theme of the year as the treasures came out…because at least one or two items showed up in every stocking. The most memorable was the small mesh bag of gold-a n wrapped chocolate coins. They appeared every single year. And if Sally couldn’t find new ones at the store, she made you turn yours back in after Christmas so she could reuse them. They circulated so many times that after a while, you didn’t dare eat them for fear of food poisoning.
It was simple, but meaningful…one of those small traditions that shapes your whole sense of the holiday.
As each of us got married, Sally knitted a stocking for the new spouse…and then for each grandchild. But even after we moved out and started our own families, the stockings stayed behind. My parents always hosted Christmas, so there was no need to bring yours home. And God forbid you forgot to return it the following year. There was no acceptable substitute for a Sally original.
I only know of only one stocking that had to be replaced, a victim of overzealous tidying of the ripped up wrapping paper on Christmas morning.
The tradition carried on for years at 1922. Even after we stopped the ceremonial “pose” of hanging the stockings, my dad tried to maintain some order by having the grandchildren take theirs down first. He loved watching their excitement unfold. Christmas was always about more than the gifts…although you’d never guess it by the mountain of wrapping paper covering the floor.
As the family grew, the stocking tradition adapted. Sally eventually stopped knitting them—sometimes it felt like each stocking took her an entire year. The last one she made was Cindy’s, back in 2005. After that, we handed off the job to paid knitters. As it turned out…the pattern she used wasn’t proprietary after all.
When I try to count how many of Sally’s stockings will be hung by the chimney with care this Christmas…we are nearly 50 strong.
Now, when I think back at those stockings…stretched by years of many treasures (occasionally even a Tiffany bracelet), and carrying the names of everyone we love…I’m reminded that Christmas isn’t really about what’s inside them. It’s about who made them, who hung them, and who gathered around them year after year.
Sally poured love into every stitch, and somehow that love still hangs there each December, warming the room in a way no fireplace ever could. Even though she’s gone, her presence lingers in those small, familiar things…a gentle reminder that the people we miss never really leave us. They stay knitted into our lives, thread by thread.
Wishing you all a beautiful Thursday. Love you guys!❤️
P.S. it will be interesting to get feedback from my siblings on this post…the moments that turn into memories are slightly different for each of us.
Photos
- Sally in 1978 loading the stockings. There are 11 stockings at this point, Lis married Steve in that year.
- The other photos are from the 90’s…or at least close to that period.
