MANDY FLYNN: My tidings of great joy, if only in my dreams

If there is one thing I find myself regretting each year about this time, it is that I have, once again, failed to produce a homemade Christmas — baking, handmade presents, cranberries strung on the tree. Just once, I want a Martha Stewart Christmas. You would think if I were that crafty during the holidays, I would be that way all year long.

And if I were that marvelous, I would certainly share my joy by writing one of those letters I’ve often heard about but never subjected my family and friends to — the Christmas card letter. In my dreams, it would probably go a little like this:

Dear Family and Friends,

Merry Christmas! I hope this note finds you healthy and happy, as happy as I was when I made the very paper you are holding in your hands from ground sticks, leaves and gluten-free flour. I hope you enjoy its marbled effect, which I perfected by swirling a knitting needle I carved from a possum’s rib through paint made of composted earth pigment and eggs laid by my hens nesting in the backyard.

Can you smell the hint of pine oil I infused in the ink? I harvested it during a springtime hike through Alabama, wearing a coat I spun on my loom by candlelight on the porch and fastened with buttons shaped from clay dug from the banks of the Flint River.

Just this morning, I hand-knit sweaters for our three dogs and we walked down to the river together. As we sat on the bank discussing the theory of relativity, we wove strips of bark into a canoe and took a float, collecting wild berries to later boil into tea. Out of the blue, we came upon a raccoon struggling to stay above water, so I quickly fashioned a rope from the dogs’ fur and pulled him into our boat, then rigged a sail from my underwear so we could get him home quickly and dry him out by the open fire while I roasted chestnuts.

This past year was full of wonderful things. I handcrafted bedroom furniture from wooden pallets I found behind the new Dollar General, where I happened to be purchasing glue sticks so I could finish bedazzling picture frames to hold photos of the children I sketched with a lump of coal on starched linen.

Later, I was in the middle of building a television cabinet out of antique belt buckles I found at Walmart and fishing line when my husband suddenly needed his gall bladder removed. Luckily, I had just sharpened my kitchen knives on a rock I found while diving in Lake Blackshear, so all went well.

The children … oh, the children! How wonderful they are! Just the other day, our son was reading a novel I had penned on goat skin and bound with sinew when he remarked, “Mother, your homemade bread is burning!” Silly boy, I told him. It was just the smell of the garden plot I was burning off behind the house, where I would eventually plant cotton using only a ladle and deck of cards. His sister uses the cotton to sew her own clothing line, which she dyes with pomegranates found in the woods and sells on the computer I fashioned from a SPAM can and tin foil.

Well, I must end my letter here. I need to prepare for our Christmas program tonight where I will play the roles of Mary, Joseph and the Baby Jesus. I whipped up the manger during a commercial break last night while watching the news, which featured a taping of my saving seven small kittens from a runaway dumpster, which I later made into a carport.

Until next time, have a happy Christmas! May you receive all the blessings you desire, may your heart be filled with love, and your days be healthy. If not, call me. The dogs and I will bring you some tea made from wild berries. In a mug I bought at Target.

It’s a good thing.

Email Mandy Flynn at [email protected]