My Dirty Little Secret About Homemade Gifts

To me, Amy Sedaris is wickedly funny. She makes me laugh so hard my sides ache. If I wore mascara, it'd be running down my face, into my mouth, making me look as if I had some weird tar-eating fetish.  

But she said this about homemade gifts:

And I didn't laugh.

Instead of the finding her funny, I was frozen. My mind zigzagged past warm, fuzzy thoughts straight into a minefield where echoes of "Danger, Will Robinson, Danger" at the thought of spilling my beans could be heard.

For over three decades, I've been elbow-deep on both sides of the table at Christmas Bazaars—those wonderlands of crafts and local talents (big cheer for creativity!). I support local businesses and individuals brave enough to expose a soft underbelly by sharing their creative endeavors.

Am I sounding defensive? Perhaps.

I have a confession. No, I have a dirty little secret. 

I attend Christmas Bazaars because secretly, I'm on a mission: to find the most bizarre, laugh-out-loud funny, or just plain ugly, stupid, meaningless gift I can get my hands on.

Yes, ugliest, pointless, and stupid are subjective and lie in the eye of the beholder. Like some families, our idea of what these are is layered by a wicked sense of humor. It's in our DNA.  

Christmas mornings, with serious cooking underway, we gather around our tree and unload our stockings, one by one. A chorus of ooohs and ahhhhhs is always heard when someone receives knitted socks, gloves, hats, handmade wooden tops, cutting boards, and spoons.

My uncle displays a pseudo-fishing maneuver with this arm when he receives hand-tied flies (for fishing, not bugs being tortured).

My brother, who dreams of being a carpenter, inspects with great detail each gifted carpentry relic and tool my dad made in a high-school shop more than a half-century ago.

My grandmother would sell her soul for homemade mustard and would sooner share her dentures than divvy up that chocolate.

As for those bazaar treasures? They end up in my mom's Christmas stocking sparking joy and a bit of suspense. One year it was a toilet bowl brush disguised as a goose dressed in ginham, another year it was half a walnut disguised as Santa riding a motorcycle (the walnut was the helmet.). She lovingly adds them to her Christmas tree, a new chapter to our family's story each year.  

So, dear Amy, while practicality may have its place and crafty skills might range from naughty to nice, the essence of a gift—whether it's a chocolate so divine it deserves a halo or a toilet brush cover donned in Mother Goose attire—lies in its ability to spread joy. Glue a few fake diamonds or pearls to the Mother Goose cap, and even the Rodeo Drive regulars will be charmed.

So here's to the makers, the creators, and the bold gift-givers. In our household, every handmade trinket, no matter how whimsical or wild, is a testament to the joy and laughter that bind us and to creating more memories, one quirky gift at a time.

Cheers!