The $100 Christmas.

Byline: Susan Palmer The Register-Guard

The holiday shopping mall meltdown. It's just one of the dirty little secrets of Christmas. Trying to concoct perfect moments through the purchase of presents, we wind up footsore, cranky and snappish with those we love.

Then, when the big day arrives and all the presents have been opened, we have to face that second little secret when our young'uns look at us with a newly avaricious gleam in their eyes. "Is that all?" they ask from beside a pile of gifts almost as tall as they are.

"Are you freakin' kiddin' me?" we want to reply. We'll still be paying for the Game Boys, Barbies, iPods, skis, DVD players, etc. come summer.

Let's face it, expensive gifts don't mean anything when we're just a credit card swipe away from our heart's desires. We buy what we want when we want it.

When we don't get what we want under the tree, we fake our joy and then run right out to exchange the thing we've been given for some other thing we think we want.

How does that all make for a heightened sense of merriment, peace on Earth and goodwill toward all?

We're not big on the old "what would Jesus do?" slogan. It takes more hubris than we've got to presume that kind of wisdom. Still, we ask ourselves, is this how the guy who preached lovingkindness (not excessive consumption) would party on his birthday?

And those of us who lean pagan, well, we'd just as soon light a few candles, utter some delicate chants about the changing season and drink some mulled wine, thank you very much.

We've thrown off the consumer madness and, under the direction of environmental writer Bill McKibben, donned a less excessive approach to the holiday.

He called it the Hundred Dollar Holidays, and it's a movement that's been making its way across the country since 1997.

"The Christmas we now celebrate grew up at a time when Americans were mostly poor ... mostly working with their hands and backs," he writes. But we're not like that anymore, and Christmas needs to change to fit the crazy life we lead now.

One of our better Christmas traditions began after a nasty pre-holiday meltdown: six hours in a mall, double the gift budget spent with only half the names crossed off the gift list.

Got to be a better way, we said. And there was. Come July the following year, we headed to the farm stands on River Road, where big flats of fat blueberries beckoned.

There followed a lively jam-making spree fit to rival Santa's own Christmas elves.

Then in August - when the tomatoes, peppers and onions in our gardens ripened - we canned salsa.

In late November, the edible gifts went into the mail for far-flung family and into gift baskets for local friends. The gifts got raves, and we had the satisfaction that comes from creating something to share.

Now, not everybody's handy in the kitchen.

Some of us knit scarves, frame meaningful photographs, create clever calendars with computers or build bird feeders.

Some of us make gift certificates redeemable for a back rub, an evening of babysitting or a home-cooked meal.

We figure time is the thing we're most short on, so spending time on others represents the most precious commodity we can give.

Mock our homemade offerings all you want to. We don't care.

We've played the season both ways, and we have more fun when we've had a bigger hand in the holiday ingredients.

It's true, we can't always resist an occasional purchase that we know will bring a big smile to a loved one.

But holiday cheer from blowing massive wads of cash? It no longer jingles our bells.