Christmas Things

Anyone who has spent anytime at all reading this Blog knows that I have the reputation of being the "non-Christmas" person in our family. I am easily overwhelmed by all the fuss of the season, and I am easily put off by the highly commercialized nature of the whole business. I'm much happier when we are wrapped up, warm and snug, within the confines of our household, and I am driven to distraction by the drumbeat that pushes us to shop and spend way beyond the reasonable limits of our capacity.

This year, though, I am feeling somehow more in tune with the season. Not giddy, by any stretch, but feeling some gentle sense of joy and wonder at it all. Our home is warmed by the strains of Christmas music on the stereo system, and I am trying to just cruise along and enjoy the whole business. Part of that is the presence of my little Christmas tree. Usually, our family puts up two trees: a giant, tall, extravagant tree that goes up in the condo that belongs to Master and T, and my little, simple, kind of "Charlie Brown" tree. This year, it is my little tree that is THE Christmas tree for our family as the other side of the household is "under construction."

It isn't really a bad little tree, it is just small and covered in ornaments that have no particular theme or relationship to one another. It is a pretty old-fashioned sort of tree.

Through all the years of my marriage, through all the years when I was raising young children, the annual exercise of putting up our family Christmas tree was about telling the stories that went with the oddball and ecclectic collection of ornaments that dressed our tree. Every year, we added to the collection, and once our children were born, our annual ornament purchases included special ornaments for them. Other people added to the collections when they gave gifts, and over the years, the collection grew and grew. As we put up the tree, we would tell each other about the ornaments, one after the other, cherishing the stories even as we cherished the delicate baubles that called them to mind for us all.

One year, when my kids had grown to adulthood, I took the giant box that held all those ornaments, and went through them one by one, creating for each child a box of ornaments that were special for them. I included the ones that had been purchased for them over the years, the ones that they had made through all the years of their childhood, and a scattering of "family" ones that they would remember and (I hoped) cherish and someday share with their own families. When I was done, the collection of ornaments that I had left was significantly smaller -- and that year, I went and bought a much smaller, (4 foot tall) artificial tree. It was a right of passage for us all. I still put up that little, homey tree each year, and each year as I put it up, I tell for myself and anyone who will listen, the story of all those ornaments that tell the story of my life to this point...

I don't know that anyone really cares about all my silly Christmas "pretties." I can't imagine that there is real interest in these odds and ends, but tonight, I am in a mood to ramble and share some of my little treasures...

Here's one of the few remaining yarn pom-poms that I still put on my tree each year. These date back to the mid-1970's when I was in college. My roomates and I wanted a tree in our college dorm, and none of us had any money. Some of the guys we knew went out and "acquired" a big old, rangy evergreen for us. We never asked where or how they came by it -- we simply put it up in the dormitory living room, and then began scrounging around for things to decorate it. We bought some orange and yellow yarn and made pom-poms to hand in its green boughs. We strung popcorn and cranberries. We clipped various bits and pieces of costume jewelry among the greenery. It was a poor tree, but we loved it, and long after college, I continued to hang the yarn pom poms in every tree I've ever had. Years ago, my roommate died from ALS, but each year, I put these soft reminders of our youth and friendship on my tree.

My tree is also adorned, every year, with a group of hand painted, wooden ornaments. They were a gift to me from my father when I was in the 8th grade. I dislocated my knee that year (playing tackle football with the boys from the neighborhood), and spent about 4 weeks in a cast. My dad came home from work one evening, shortly after I'd hurt my knee, with the set of wooden tree decorations. I spent hours and hours painting them as I recuperated, and when I was done, he sealed them with shellac. They were on my parents' tree until I left home -- and then I took them with me.

When "he who shall remain nameless" and I were first married, we lived in Casper, Wyoming. The year of our first Christmas, there were no Christmas trees available in the city. Some sort of shortage, I guess. I ended up buying a Norfolk pine (potted plant) and we decorated that for Christmas. One of the very first ornaments we ever bought together, and the one that started our tradition was this one that depicted a Currier and Ives scene. I've handled it with great tenderness since 1975, and while the marriage did not survive, this ornament remains.

My brother, Gregg, was a great fan of Christmas angels. On a regular basis, he'd gift me with a new bunch of odd and interesting angels for my tree. It has been 17 years since Gregg died, but every year, I festoon my tree with "Gregg's angels."

When my daughter was in her mid-teens, she spent about nine months in a locked ward for mentally ill adolescents. It was terribly difficult for her and for us, but it was also a period of time during which I slept at night, knowing she was relatively safe. She was terribly angry with me and us for making the decision to place her in the hospital. However, when Christmas came around, she gave me this sign language ornament -- exprsssing her love, and I wept. Each year when I hang it, I give thanks for her life, and her relative state of wellness and health today.

This amazing cobalt tear drop is probably one of the best finds from my days as a thrift store rat. I loved haunting thrift stores as my kids were growing up. We never ever seemed to have enough money, and scoring some awesome treasure for a couple of bucks always made me feel like I'd beat the system somehow. These might be one of the very few real finds I ever snagged at the thrift.

There are lots of other goodies on the tree, but these little metal springy things remind me of my wonderful old cat Rudy. Rudy was half siamese, and he was meaner than shit, but he loved Christmas. We'd put these on the tree, and then battle throughout the season to keep them on the tree. Rudy loved them, and would steal them and run off with them. Finally we relented and gave him one of his very own. It was his favorite until the very end of his life.

Wishing you all the very brightest blessings of the season --
swan