Balkans people are a gregarious lot. And a generous lot. Kind of people who would take their shirts off their backs to give a stranger in need. Kind of people who'd kill the last chicken in order to feed a stranger. Anything less would be dishonorable. A different ethos...
At least that's the way I remember it. I left 21 years ago and much has changed there. Two decades of wars, sanctions, bombing, economic crisis and this newfangled thing called capitalism must have affected the national temperament. Perhaps they are more frugal now, and less crazy about generosity. Perhaps today they would fit right in here, where keeping one's own financial house in order is seen as being a good citizen (leading, at its extremes, to a view that one's wealth is a good marker and symbol of being a good frugal provider for one's family, thus the conservative notion that rich people are the best people).
Some families in Serbia had a completely open door policy. Someone is always at home - usually the stay-at-home wife - and there is always good food to serve. So guests are always welcome.
Both of my parents worked, and our apartment was small, so my parents preferred to plan in advance, invite people, or have people announce their arrival well ahead of time so we could be prepared, and so we could be at home and not visiting someone else or going to the theater.
Our house was seemingly always full of people. My parents seemed to know everyone in Belgrade, and had so many friends of very different kinds, from reactionary, royalist friends of my Dad, to the high creme-d-la-creme of the country's intelligentsia, university professors, journalists, artists, people who later became members of the parliament or ministers or ran for President.
Some evenings, there would be just one or two guests. But at least two or three times a month, our house would get packed with people, perhaps a dozen or more of them filling our little apartment, using every chair we had, sometimes even neighbors' borrowed chairs. My mother would fix large quantities of some of her famous specialties. Sometimes, that would be fish soup and fried fish, freshly caught in the Danube that morning by my father's cousin. Sometimes it was offal, like tripe, which I did not like. Sometimes her famous chicken-bacon meatloaf. My brother and I would be allowed to stay up as long as the guests are in, listening to the interesting discussions of politics, media, and whatever else they would talk about.
Of course, one does not go visiting empty handed. Not there. So each guest would bring flowers for my Mom, a bottle of wine (or something stronger) for my Dad, and chocolate for my brother and me. Sure, store-bought gifts, but that was OK for something like this, a routine occasion, a dinner that was organized "just because".
But for special occasions, and for special people, there was a different undercurrent of thought. As most people earned roughly the same, there was no point in buying expensive gifts just to show off one's wealth. That was considered un-classy, insulting, even stupid - why bust one's monthly budget on an expensive present! Why rub it in that one has more money than another, when we are all supposed to be equal?
So, for special occasions and special people, a person was more likely to do something great, like organize a big trip out of town and a party for a bunch of friends, or, if there is skill and talent, make something with one's own hands. That is an investment of time, thought and work.
Or one would give away one of one's own treasured possessions. Now, that's a treasure! Usually that happened within families, the younger generations getting family heirlooms or other items that have been in the family for generations. My children have already received several such items over the years.
Buying a gift in a store, for big occasions like that, was deemed cheap. That was outsourcing time, energy and skills to someone else. Buying off one's own time and energy. Essentially stating that one does not really care, but can compensate with money.
An old friend of my mothers', the guy who first put me on a horse when I was five, then taught me to ride for several more years until I could go on my own, was also an accomplished classical guitar player. He usually had several good guitars at home. One day, when I was just still very young, he gave me his smallest, cheapest guitar as a birthday present. That was in hope I would start learning to play. A couple of years later, seeing that I am actually learning to play, he gave me his next guitar for birthday. A few years later, his next. A few years later, he gave me his Number Two, an amazing concert-class acoustic guitar, made in Cuba, with an inscription from the guitar-master. Unfortunately, after I left the country without the guitar, there was nobody there to take good care of it, to tune it, to monitor air humidity, etc., so over time it dried up, cracked and broke. If it was still alive today, it would have been worth several tens of thousands of dollars. But as a gift, a gift from him, an important male role model in my life, it meant so much more.
Big gift-giving time was New Years. Orthodox Christmas is ruled by the old calendar, which lags fourteen days behind the new calendar, which then places Christmas a few days after New Years. Very, very few people actually celebrated Christmas at the time, being in a socialist country in which religion, though not outlawed (seminary and churches were working just fine), was frowned upon and ridiculed.
But New Years was big. The biggest holiday of the year. People planned parties months in advance, or were hoping to get invited to the hottest parties in town. Being part of the intellectual elite, my brother and I got to go to some of the most legendary parties of the time.
Everyone had a New Years tree, decorated with New Years ornaments. The city, and each house, and each room in the house was decorated. Sparkles were lit. Old, fat guy clad in red, Grandpa Frost, would put New Years gifts under the New Years tree. Sounds familiar? Yup, all of the Christmas traditions and symbols were adapted for New Years instead. Those few people who celebrated Christmas only needed to wait a few more days, put some fresh presents under the tree for the kids, and serve fat-free food, like cornbread and baked beans.
New Years was also the time when, due to sheer volume of gift-giving, it was perfectly OK to give store-bought presents.
Also, for several weeks before the holiday, the city would be covered with stands where people were selling New Years cards. Everyone bought and sent cards to everyone they knew, even the first door neighbors! People loved sending and receiving cards.
Our family never bought a single card.
Instead, every year, my brother and I would make them ourselves. My father was in editing, publishing and printing business. My mother worked in the government. Both had access to plenty of office supplies. They would bring home boxes and boxes of envelopes, and stacks of thin cardboard paper.
My brother and I would grab rulers and pencils and scissors, and cut the cardboard into nice strips, then fold them to make cards.
Then we would take out all sorts of art supplies - pencils, markers, black and colored ink, charcoal, crayons, watercolors, temperas - and start drawing and painting the cards. We would make hundreds of cards. They would get sent to every address our parents could possibly find. We did all the inscribing and all the addressing as well. For friends living abroad, we'd inscribe it in English and add "Merry Christmas" on top of "Happy New Year".
As we grew up somewhat, we started resenting this annual ritual. We could not just suddenly say no to our parents, so we started gradually reducing the numbers of cards. Instead of making one for everyone in the world, we would only make cards for people we knew well and who meant something to us. Making fewer cards also meant that we could spend more time on each card. As we were getting older, our drawing and painting skills improved. Some of the cards we made in latter years were little masterpieces. Some ended up torn, crumpled and thrown away as not perfect enough.
We both loved drawing and painting anyway. We did it all the time. A few of my childhood drawings have been saved by my mother. Looking at them now, they look childish. I have no idea if the execution was average, better or worse than expected for the age at which I made them. Of course, like every child, I was told how beautiful each piece was. But I really have no idea if I ever had talent for art, or if I just managed to do some stuff well due to sheer practice. But one thing is sure - my choices of subjects and scenes were wildly creative.
Becoming more and more horse-crazy as a kid, more and more of the New Years cards, and in the end all of them, depicted horses. In the end, I only drew horses. I got pretty good at drawing and painting horses, while never actually practicing drawing anything else any more. So I can only draw horses now. A one-trick pony, I am.
Teenage years, teenage rebellion. My brother and I quit doing cards. Our parents found alternative ways to stay in touch with their friends over the holidays. Teenage years, new teenage interests. Perhaps a girl here and there. New Years was so passe now, but a person's birthday is a special occasion. Or graduation. And for a special occasion for a special person, one makes something with one's hands. What do we know how to do? We know how to draw good cards. So that is what we did.
That must sound totally nuts to Americans, but that is the way of thinking I inherited. I moved from socialism to capitalism, and different values are in play. Making something with one's own hands, something that was considered the right thing to do there, must seem crazy here, may perhaps seem suspiciously "too special".
Yet, artists I know send their own art for holidays and birthdays, at least reproduced on cards. Musicians may send their CDs. Cooks may send cookies. Writers may send copies of their own books. I may not be a professional artist, but I can draw a horse well enough that I can make a card myself, and by doing that I would not feel 'cheap' for buying one at the store. It's all mixed up in me now, after 20 years, and sometimes old ethos prevails, sometimes new, sometimes I buy a present, sometimes I make one. Buying certainly makes it easier to get stuff in bulk and send to many people, which means that each one of them means less.
And then, in light of the article I linked here: http://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2012/12/the-christmas-card-may-or-may-not-die-but-its-spirit-has-conquered-us-all/266471/ , as the Web and social media make it so much easier to send virtual greetings, do hand-made gifts become even more "special"? Are the things in-between, the store-bought cards and presents, on the way out because they do not cater either to the superficial friendships or the deep friendships? What are the new, emerging mores of normal conduct these days? What is deemed a right thing to do? In Serbia? In the States?
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