Ornaments

No matter when I actually post this, I’m writing it on January 7. That means that the 12 Days of Christmas have passed and I can now take down my Christmas Tree. I’ve known people who believed it was bad luck to still have the tree up on New Year’s Eve, but I was taught there are 12 days of Christmas and the FIRST one is December 25. The twelfth day is the day we celebrate the arrival of the Wise Men and we call that Epiphany.

These are traditions and I think most of us understand the dates have been manufactured to suit Papal purposes of long ago. In truth, I believe Yeshua was born in early Spring during the lambing season and I believe it took the Zoroastrian Wise men considerably longer than 12 days to get to Bethlehem and that the family was probably no longer staying in a stable or a cave and the baby was no longer lying in a manger by the time they arrived.

Nevertheless, these days have been set aside in remembrance of those long-ago occurrences and I try to honor them. Which brings me to the Christmas tree and all of the decorations which were not conceived until centuries later in lands far distant from the nativity.

But people need traditions. They help hold together the important fabric of our society and bind our personal memories into that historic fabric. So, this morning I sit staring at the tree that I had little desire to put up this year, and contemplate the lengthy process of taking it down and packing away all of the irreplaceable objects of attached memories. And the very unChristmas Rolling Stones song “This Could Be the Last Time” keeps playing through my head.

I put the tree up hoping that if I roped my granddaughters into helping me, the active tradition would get me into the “Christmas Spirit.” I loved having them here helping with the project, but once they were gone, so was the spirit, and I have sat here day after day wondering how long I must work so hard trying to capture the magic that I know it holds. The magic is in the memories and they must be added to each year. No memories were made under this tree this year. Nothing was celebrated here. No presents waited expectantly to be unwrapped Christmas morning, papers and ribbons scattered throughout the living room. None of that was to be because Santa Cloyde was missing for the second year in a row. I cooked for no one.

Only Perkins and I awoke here Christmas morning. She went joyously straight to her stocking. I did enjoy partaking in her joy. But then I got in the car and went elsewhere to sit beside someone else’s tree and eat at their table before coming back home to my own silent, glistening tree.

So, maybe my personal celebration will follow in the hours of dismantling the tree as I hold each ornament in my hands and carefully pack it away for next year. It’s an AWESOME collection, you know.

I had a sister-in-law whose tree has always been a “Designer Tree,” with all the ornaments matching, only gold and red, with white lights, gold and red ribbons and garlands on the green tree. Very pretty, indeed, but it says nothing other than “See how elegant I am!”

My tree is 8 feet tall with lights of red, green, amber, fuchsia, and blue, and ornaments of every style, shape, and color! And each has a story that is remembered as it is hung and unhung. Some are just pretty balls that were bought at the big discount store because we were starting over with almost nothing to hang on the tree. Even so, those inexpensive manufactured balls were carefully selected because of the feeling and/or sparkle that they leant. So, there are probably 4 dozen of those. When they break, no one cries, just one less pretty thing to put away.

There are the delicately crafted crystal and blown glass shapes that are handled with utmost care and displayed where they can best split and reflect the light back out into the room, each one received as a special gift from someone in the past. Our first Christmases in Urbanna, we had so few ornaments that our tree was filled with the beautifully crafted specialty metal ornaments designed where I worked. Oh, but they were made for the White House, museums, and other historic venues. I must have three dozen of those.

There are special ornaments I bought for my children which they failed to take them with them. Nevertheless, I recall the careful consideration as I selected them and measured the desired impact against the dollars spent on their purchase. My sister sent an entire set of “Twelve Days of Christmas” ornaments, as well as a couple of other very special silver or cloisonne ornaments. Atop the tree is the felt Christmas Angel that Grandmother sent me decades ago, and a few other special ornaments she sent, probably from the floral shop where she worked. There are the decorated sea shells and starfish that I picked out and several articulated cloisonne goldfish, and the feathered birds that I bought. Somehow, I have a collection of instruments; violins, French horns, trombones, trumpets, oboes, drums. I have two dozen sparkly colored snowflakes, mirrored ornaments, wooden ornaments, painted and plastic ornaments, angels, choristers, birds and animals of every composition. There are the hand-smocked ornaments by a special friend, laser-cut Lucite ornaments, and jingle bells in the shapes of stars, flamingos, tricycles, Santas, crabs, what-have-you, and my bobblehead Siamese kitty. There are biplanes, cars, trains, rocking horses, and snowmen. There are antique pieces picked up at auction. And there are the photo ornaments of grandchildren. But the most important are the sad looking ornaments of folded colored foil, punched Mason Jar lids, ceramics, and plastic beads made by little hands that I loved so much. All those and more populate this tree.

Say, I think I’m beginning to feel the spirit.