Dickensville Fail

We have a Christmas tradition in my family, Nick, Chloe, Omar and I. It’s called “Disappointing Mom.” It was born from years of me working my butt off making everyone else’s Christmas magical and not asking for much in return and not getting much of what I asked for. (I hope you’re not thinking Martyr.) Well, I won’t bore you with every year’s disappointment, I’ll just say that this year’s disappointment started way back in 1994…

That year, my mother-in-law, Marie gave me a cute little lighted porcelain church for Christmas. It was cheerful and colorful, covered with patches of snow, adorned with wreaths and red bows and a gold cross and if you looked inside, you could see a tiny couple being married. The following year, she gave me a cute little lighted porcelain house to go with the church, a white 2-story traditional home decorated for Christmas. It looked like happy people lived there. I didn’t have many Christmas decorations back then and these things were pretty sweet. I wasn’t one for collecting, it was kind of hoaky and I’m pretty lazy, but I thought it could be fun to start a collection of what I discovered was called the Dickensville Christmas Village. I think Chloe was charmed by the miniature village and the couple of little people we added to the scene and we started a tradition of setting up our little village together.

In 1996, Marie must have forgotten about the collection because that year I got an outfit from The Limited that I’d been eyeing. I continued to pull my small village out every Christmas and added a few more impostor pieces over the next couple of decades. I found a big cheap Victorian house at Big Lots, then hot glued the balconies back on every December when I unpacked it. I found an electronic skating rink with the skaters going round and round on a pond. It survived five years. I ran across another cheap random house. I added a gazebo, miniature pine trees covered in snow, two nuns in habits, deer and raccoons that I found at Lowe’s. 

When Omar came around, I added some people of color to the village — a dancing couple, a boy balancing on a barrel, a fireman with a little boy in his arms. When he was big enough to help, Omar liked putting the fireman on the top turret of the Victorian house and trying to shove the snowman in the church, thinking out of the box as usual. 

When we moved to Burbank in 2004, I bought a snow blanket and set the whole thing up on top of the piano. Once the perfect spot had presented itself, I stood back and thought, “You know, adding to my village could be fun. And such an easy Christmas gift for my family to get me.” I started dropping hints. “Don’t you think some more buildings for this village would be nice?” or “Hey, I’ve got an idea about what you could get me for Christmas,” or “This collection is called Dickensville. I wonder if they have more pieces?” I told my husband, I informed my daughter. I mentioned it to my best friend, who is an interior designer with an actual warehouse on the family farm called The Christmas Barn. The only response I got was, “Have you seen the Department 56 Winter’s Frost Village? It’s lovely. I don’t have those. I want those.”

Finally, last December, it occurred to me that I could be responsible for my own needs. Even though the collection had been discontinued, lots of eBay sellers offered them. I bought myself the Dickensville Theatre, the mini marquee advertising A Christmas Carol. I think my taking action set the energy of the universe moving in my direction. 

When my next door neighbor, Thomas, brought my gift over, I unwrapped the perfect little water tower with Merry Christmas splashed across its tank. On Christmas Eve, Nick handed me a huge padded envelope and out fell…like…seventy five tiny bags containing tiny people, fences, flower pots, park benches, lampposts, more paraphernalia than any one village on a piano can contain. The next day, Chloe and her boyfriend, Josh told me that my gift was going to be late but they were very excited and were sure I was going to love it. When their package finally arrived, I discovered an ancient yellowed box, the contents of which the makers promised to “Bring your Holiday Village to Life!” The Dickensville Collectibles Christmas Train invited me to “Enjoy Year-Round Railroad Fun!” Chloe and Josh’s enthusiasm touched me and I stored the box in the attic with the rest of the decorations, to be opened and enjoyed next year. 

So…fast forward to today, time for the annual Christmas Village set up. Chloe can’t be here because of her social distancing guidelines, Omar is far too old and annoying to participate, so I turn on some Christmas music and start pulling porcelain buildings and figurines out of the storage bin, putting Nick in charge of figuring out the Christmas Train. The sounds and lights definitely need a man’s touch. 

We see immediately that the train track is far too big for the top of the piano so Nick takes it over to the dining room table. The directions are nowhere to be found and when we follow the picture on the box, we realize a piece of the track is missing too. Nick finally figures out a way to get the track together without the missing piece while I gather all the batteries. When we flip the switch on the train engine, here’s what happens:

I hesitate to send the video to Chloe because I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but she has to see this. I send the video and then call her. I sit on the sofa and put her on speaker. Nick goes to the refrigerator to stare at its contents.

“Did you see the video? The Dickensville Christmas Train only runs backwards.” I say.

“Did you flip the switch the other way?” She asks, laughing.

“The switch has two settings — off and on.”

“I think it’s cute,” Chloe says, still laughing. She’s an awful lot like her Dad.

“What are you talking about? A piece of the track is missing and it runs backwards.”

“Well, it was used!”

“I wonder if you can get your money back now. Do you think the seller knew it went backwards?”

“Who cares?” Nick yells from the kitchen. “It’s running. It’s just going the wrong way.” 

“Well, that’s not okay,” I yell back, then to Chloe I say, “It would be wrong to be knowingly sold a product with pieces missing and a train that goes the wrong direction.” 

“Just set the tracks up there on the piano and put the train on it. Let it just sit there,” Nick offers, coming out of the kitchen, pointing to the piano with the slab of ham in his hand.

“There’s no room for a train that doesn’t work,” I say. 

“You need to get a special table,” Chloe says.

“I don’t want to be one of those weird people that set up special tables for their Christmas Village,” I answer. 

“Well, Mom, you’ve been begging for stuff for your village for years. So…here you go!”

“Yeah, but not 450 villagers and a train that goes backwards!” A backwards train is not part of my perfect Christmas display fantasy.

“And where’s Churchill?” Nick asks, referring to the 15-inch tall bronze statue his best friend, Mark sculpted. Winston has a place of honor on the piano the rest of the year but I usually set him over on the bookcase for the Christmas holiday. Nick marches formally over to the bookcase, picks up Churchill and scoots my Theatre out of the way, knocking over all of the villagers nearby to make room. He plops the statue down in the middle of the village and, speaking in a loud, affected British accent, says “Winston must reside in the English village too, watching over the town and keeping a close eye on his people.”

I just stare at him. I’m feeling like my life is spinning out of control. I’m wondering if I can choose to see this another way when Chloe says, “It’s okay, Mom. A backwards train is not going to hurt anything. Christmas isn’t ruined.” 

“Look at it,” Nick says, going back over to the train, flipping the switch and presenting it like he’s Vanna White. “It’s the perfect train for 2020.”

Maybe he’s right. 2020 has been a year of unpredictability, frustration, weirdness and upset for all of us. If I’ve learned to accept the fact that I can’t touch my daughter or go out to dinner, I guess I could accept less than perfect Christmas decorations. Can I find some charm in a train that runs backwards? Maybe it can chug backwards around the base of the Christmas tree? If I can focus on the spirit with which this train was given, perhaps it doesn’t matter which way it runs?

Hmmmm…. If I’m not careful, this could be the end of the “Disappointing Mom” family Christmas tradition.