I’ve become Scrooge. Well, maybe not a cold-hearted miser who hates Christmas. But definitely someone who, in the hustle and bustle of Christmas preparations, broken families and a full time job; has lost the magic and meaning of Christmas. That is until last year.
Determined not to decorate another tree alone we bought our tree four days before Christmas, right before family from out of town arrived. The tree lot closed the following day. The tree was decorated by me and my family just two days before Christmas. When I decorate the tree by myself only the best of the best get hung on the tree. But last year, every single ornament that I owned ended up on the tree. There were ornaments that my brother and I made as children and adults, that my mom made and that family members made. A clay ornament of my beloved childhood cat, of myself in my Girl Scout uniform, of my brother in his Cub Scout uniform, of a University of Oregon Duck. Cloth ornaments of my my mom, her sisters and her parents. A purple velvet rabbit. A woman’s head made from a hand blown egg. A heart made with seeds. A tin foil bell. There were ornaments purchased when my husband and I had no ornaments and very little money. A collection of hearts. There were engraved silver snowflake ornaments that my mom annually gifted my grandparents that I subsequently inherited and a collection of beautiful Glass Eye Studio ornaments that my mom currently gifts every member of our family annually. Ornaments that my husband and I brought back from our many travel destinations also went on the tree, representations from Prague, Hawaii, New York, Vienna, Nova Scotia, New Mexico and more. There were ornaments representing the many bowl games that my husband’s college alma mater played in over the years. It didn’t matter how old, ugly or fragile the ornament, if it existed it went on the tree.
It was the most beautiful tree ever.
I was sad when it finally came time to take the tree down because I realized that tree represented my life; it represented the love in my life. So next year when I start complaining about the holidays I will remind myself that the tree is a celebration of the love in my life, even if I have to decorate it myself.
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