Every winter of my New Jersey childhood, around Christmas time, my adored Grandma Rose – whose dramatic letters about surviving a historic blizzard when she was a little girl inspired me to become a storyteller – would send me a crisp $5 bill folded in half and stuffed into a tiny greeting card, whether I needed it or not.
When she passed away, that was that. I expected no magical $5 in the mail. How I felt was: Everyone’s dead who used to send me presents. Each day seemed usual. My life was without ceremony. Santa Claus was no longer the postman, or so I thought. And that, I guess, was what it meant to be a grownup, right?
Well, now I’ve found true Christmas/Chanukah/Kwanzaa/Solstice holiday spirit embodied by Dawn Holt, whose inspired kindness, spontaneous generosity and extraordinary creativity have touched the hearts, the minds, the lives of many, many utter and complete strangers.
Dawn, an award-winning Fayetteville, N.C., high-school counselor – currently pursuing her Ph.D. in educational leadership while writing poignant “Chicken Soup for the Soul” essays on the side – designed and stitched and sewed and embroidered dozens and dozens of unique, whimsical “proverb pillows” and then sent them out as Christmas gifts this year to Internet friends all over America – many of whom she’s never met.
That’s right! Spreading joy, in her fashion, to strangers … like me!
I was genuinely touched when her precious pillow arrived a few days ago, with its hilarious hand-stitched epigram straight from the “Wizard of Oz” – “Begone, or I’ll drop a house on you!”
Somehow, it took my breath away. First, I laughed and laughed. Then I was nearly moved to tears. Besides evoking powerful childhood memories and stirring up a gamut of emotions, Dawn’s totally unexpected holiday gift made me a believer again. People can and do keep promises! Finally, someone who decides to do something for others, says she will do it, then actually comes through! How impressive!
Although Dawn and I are not actually acquainted in person, for several years I’ve “known” her through America Online, where we frequent some of the same live-talk chat-rooms. I’ve written about Dawn before – how the tragic death of her teenage son, Cameron, led her to create a novel Christmas tradition of giving chocolate-covered cherries to friends in his memory.
Secretly, I think of Dawn as Superwoman.
She’s the queen of multitasking. Early November, sitting at the keyboard of her computer, logged on to AOL, between research papers, she began working on her “Proverb Pillows,” a project idea which came to her this past summer while visiting her parents in Wisconsin. “I saw some wall-hangings done this kind of way,” she recalls. “They were selling for about $50, and I thought, gee, I could make those for about a dollar, and what a great way to give lots of people something for Christmas.”
Charmingly crafted from Wal-Mart gingham and muslin fabric she dipped in coffee to resemble antique tea-stained lace, Dawn Holt’s Proverb Pillows have that enchanting “homespun” look, classic Americana or country French, embroidered with memorable lines from her favorite movies, snappy slogans, song lyrics or even clever and cute personal comments.
She calls them “Dawn Holt’s Slightly Whacked Proverb Pillows.” They take about an hour each to make. Her first one, “Second star to the right, straight on ’til morning,” went to her son Alex, now 14, “because when he was little, he loved Peter Pan.” She mailed others to online buds in Florida, Missouri, Georgia, Virginia and elsewhere around the U.S., as well as former students, neighbors, real-life friends and relatives.
“I like taking something somebody says,” Dawn explains. “I’ve just drawn out a pillow for these lesbians that live next door. They were taking out trash, lots of trash, one day, and the one said, ‘We’re the trashiest girls we know.'” And she’s starting to get actual requests from friends online, like the one who wants “We are here – deal.”
People discount the ‘Net for not having a human connection, but Dawn Holt strongly disputes that. “Just not true,” she declares. “I like the fact I sent so many out. It made my day. Glad you got it, glad you liked it. And it’s good Karma doing nice things.”
Yay!
Anyone can buy a present, but to make gift after gift – and for “strangers” – is powerful and very moving, recalling a nearly forgotten fellow-feeling which folks used to have in communities, when America seemed a much kinder, gentler country. Happy holidays!
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