My mom and I were in the mall the other day, running a couple of errands. She commented on the bag I had placed on the table filled with my three small purchases from a major retailer.

She didnít like the color. It was bright green with the companyís logo and white snowflakes and three little houses with evergreens next to them.

It should be red or a dark green, my mom said.

ìWeíve whitewashed Christmas,î my mom said.

Nobody can say, ìMerry Christmasî anymore. It has to be happy holidays.

So what happened? Are we so politically correct and all inclusive that we exclude those who believe that Christmas should remain Christmas. Itís a day on the calendar, inked in as Christmas Day. It carries religious meaning. It also has been commercialized into a gift-buying, spend-lots-of-money holiday.

A few years ago, my hometown decided to discontinue putting up colored Christmas lights in favor of white or blue holiday lights. I lived out of state then, but my mother said a controversy arose over those of another religion feeling excluded by the choice of color. The group claimed the colored lights signified a Christian holiday.

If you take away someone elseís rights, it slippery slopes into a loss of other rights. I wonder when I wonít be able to fly the red, white and blue when itís the colors of my nation, but not of all nations.

It makes me sad ñ no matter what my religion is ñ to not be able to yell Merry Christmas out my window. I love red and green. Bright green is okay, but itís a color for springtime. Itís not a natural color you see during the winter when the trees are barren and the days shorten.

Itís Christmas Day that adds excitement to the otherwise dull month of December.

Until I was in my thirties, I refused to carry a purse. I didnít want to have to worry about misplacing it, like I did with keys until I started designating key drop-off zones throughout the house.

I carried my ID, a credit card and some money in a pocket, and if I didnít have any, such as when I wore a dress, I carried a tiny party purse, even if it was a non-party designation where I was heading.

I didnít want to be burdened, weighed down, responsible for something that could just as well fit in my back pocket.

But three years ago, I was diagnosed with asthma. I had to carry an inhaler, and that wouldnít feel comfortable in my pocket, so I bought a purse from Target on clearance for $14. I bought a wallet (Iíve had several over the years but kept them in my bedroom to store my credit cards, library cards and other number-identifying plastics), also on clearance.

I figured I should throw in, along with my cell phone that previously was attached to my hip via a clip, a 2-ounce lotion bottle, and then a 0.5-ounce hand sanitizer because of the craze about ultra sanitizing away the flu, meningitis and other germs. I realized wouldnít a hair pick be nice, along with extra scrunchies. And then along came the spot cleaner in case of spills (not oil, mind you).

On Jan. 1, I added a daily planner (no Blackberries for me! I still crave pen and paper) and later a mini-notebook in case I had a brilliant idea for a blog.

And this summer, I added a pen-size bottle of insect repellant, which did me in. I picked up my purse and realized it was heavy. How the heck did that happen?

My father told me he knew I was a clothes hound when he and my mother took me to my grandmotherís house, and I, as a three year old, kicked out my leg to show off my new shoes.

"You loved your new shoes. That was a real treat for you," my mother said when repeating the story.

In high school, my mother gave me a budget for my back-to-school clothes, and I would try dozens of outfits on, then make a final decision, dragging my mother along in crisscross patterns through the mall.

In college and after, I retained my love of clothing, but could not spend, spend, spend. Though I could shop and select out a few pieces, I was not of the Saks income, more like that of coupons, bargains and sales, which I use to my full advantage to select out a few pieces to add to my wardrobe each year.

But the recession has made shopping dreary. Why? The clothes I used to buy from department stores and small retailers, all mid-grade, are of a lesser quality. They last a season. They shrink or they stretch. They lose their shape. They fall apart. And some of them get those little nubbies that should be the domain of sweaters only.

This reduction in quality is a way for stores to cut back on their costs, but it is putting a damper on my love of shopping. Now, Iím wary. I check if the material has spandex. I look for small, even stitching and tight, straight seams. I look at the thickness of material. I look for the bias and cut.

In the past, I did not have to be so careful. Now, Iím a wary consumer in a depressed economy who wants the shopping to be an experience and pleasure, not another chore to replace the clothes that fell apart the last season.