Wretched Excess 

By TAD BARTIMUS

When the last of 168 loaves of banana bread went out in the mail this morning, I couldn't tell who was happier, me or the postmaster. 

"Is that it? Are you sure? Absolutely, positively sure?"
He was peering over the counter at me through his glasses. He wasn't smiling. His own personal loaf had placated him through my first two trips to the post office, but this was my third visit, and his bread was now just a sweet memory.

"Yes," I said firmly, casting a sidelong glance at my reflection in the window to see if my nose was growing. Better not to tell him about the 10 loaves I forgot. I'll bring those in on his day off.

With the help of many elves, I'd just sent every AMONG FRIENDS newspaper and online editor in the country a loaf of banana bread, a jar of passion fruit jelly made by my 90-year-old friend, a little bag of organic coffee grown and roasted by other friends, some candies and nuts, all accompanied by my heartfelt gratitude for their skill, kindness and loyalty.

It was a lot of work, but as we made, decorated and personalized the gifts with our own hands, all of us felt a satisfaction rare in a season now synonymous with conspicuous consumption. 

Our banana bread marathon was an antidote to all the wretched excess tumbling out of our mailboxes during what more properly should be labeled catalog season. Not for AMONG FRIENDS' friends a 12-ounce box of store-bought cookies for $27, plus tax. We wanted to do better; as we handled each loaf of banana bread, we imagined that surely the recipients would be touched by our personal efforts. 

Far be it from me to tell anyone how to spend their moola. The only checkbook I can control, sort of, is mine. But Hallelujah! This year, I mostly have. I loved giving the banana bread. I also realized, looking around my house, that I have STUFF everywhere! I don't need more STUFF! Most of the people I know don't need more STUFF. 
So no, thank you anyway, I won't be ordering the 118-foot yacht cum submarine that sleeps 11 and is suitable for trans-Atlantic crossings. That $20 million would be better off equipping a hospital.

If I skip the Faberge Barbie, that's another $400 that could go to the domestic crisis hotline. 

Nobody really needs a sliver-plated belle –poque centerpiece for their caviar, do they? In fact, who really needs the caviar? Add up $1,500 for the container and another $750 for 250 grams of fish eggs, and you've got $2,250 worth of grocery store gift certificates to give young teachers earning less than $30,000 a year.
Ditto the $6,200 silver champagne bucket and the $4,500 tray it sits on.

That $35,000 reproduction of a 19th century stock ticker? Giving the money to the local junior college seems a pretty clear choice between God and mammon.

As for the personal aquatic pod suite advertised as a floating getaway, the $91,100 saved by not buying it would make a half-dozen down payments on middle-class houses for first-time home-buyers. 

The chunky ruby-and-diamond necklace, which surely would send its wearer to the chiropractor, costs $1.4 million. Wouldn't that money be much better spent on preschool reading programs for at-risk kids?
There will be few new store-bought trinkets under my tree this year. Instead, some heirloom linens will get wrapped up for the next generation, and my "good" jewelry will get to go to new parties on younger wrists, fingers and ears. My shopping list will be heavy with "instant gratification" presents you can eat, read, watch or listen to. I will give IOUs to help one friend clean her house, drive another to town, take walks with a third who recently lost her husband. 

This holiday season I want to give love and time; I hope I get the same in return.

Banana Bread Recipe

© 2000 The Women Syndicate

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