About 1995, my husband, Grit, for services rendered, was given a $10,000 certificate that could only be used at a high-end department store.

It couldn't be cashed and taken somewhere else to pay bills or used in other ways (which his practical nature would have dictated.)

It was for that store and that store only.

Well, since he had to spend it (too bad) and since I'm the shopper of the family, he handed it over to me.

Standing at the entrance of the store with the gift certificate in my hand was one of the most surreal experiences of my life.

It was holiday time, and the store was beribboned and decorated with all the gorgeous balls and pine boughs the world could offer as well as glittering lights to draw me in.

I paused somewhat as these thoughts ran through my head, "I can buy anything in this store. I don't need to walk through and try not to covet. If there is something in here I want, it can be mine. Woo-hoo!"

Now you must realize just how out of line this whole experience was for me, having been born at the end of the Depression and growing up during and after World War II.

One year my mother ordered a pair of Easter shoes for me out of the Sears catalog. They never fit well, but they were what I had, so I wore them. I grew up with lots of similar experiences.

Then, as a young married woman, my husband and I moved to Connecticut and were house poor for many years while we raised our five children.

We had a good life, but I still am a person who will drive around a parking lot to find a meter with time left.

To show my weak character, I probably spent too much time walking through that store dreaming and assessing just what to do with the money.

I purchased a few items, but then Grit and I, being practical creatures, decided rather than just fritter it away we would buy an oriental carpet for the family room, along with a few other large-ticket items.

When we moved from Connecticut, the well-loved carpet was banished upstairs to the grandchildren's playroom, as we had no other place for it.

The other purchases haven't fared much better, forgotten in the traffic of our lives.

This year is certainly a troubled one. Looking back over the years, I don't remember one where there was so much uncertainty. But I was quite young during World War II. At that time, there probably was great concern we would be made subjects of some foreign country.

As uncertain as our world is currently, there are some things we can control.

Bill Watterson, the cartoonist of "Calvin & Hobbes," gives a "tongue-in-cheek" synopsis of the season:

"Oh look, yet another Christmas TV special! How touching to have the meaning of Christmas brought to us by cola, fast food and beer. Who'd have ever guessed that product consumption, popular entertainment and spirituality would mix so harmoniously?"

It would be wonderful if I could guarantee anyone reading this article a $10,000 shopping spree, but I don't think it would really help in the long run.

How many lottery winners have you read about going bankrupt? Seems like the more we get the more we want.

Larry Wilde, who wrote "The Merry Book of Christmas," advised, "Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall."

And if we remember back in our mind's eye, they still are.

E-mail: sasyoung2@aol.com