It's January and the Christmas decorations are coming down. In December, as I was decorating the tree, I realized I do this for me, not my children.
Go ahead, judge me! Call child services!
As I got out my Christmas accouterments, (garland, ornaments, lights, stockings, snow globes, icicles, Santa salt and pepper shakers, earthenware North Pole teapot) I encouraged the kids to come help me until my throat hurt.
"Come on, you guys! Help me decorate this . . . gosh . . . dang . . . tree!" Eventually, I started putting the ornaments on by myself.
That's when it hit me. Each one of these ornaments take me to another time, another place.
In 1986, my roommate and I made ornaments. I picked up one of my favorites, a cross-stitched Gingerbread Man. "Run, run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man." Every time I read that book, I root for the little guy with the gummy bear buttons. Curse that fox for doing what comes naturally.
A year later, a friend and I went to Hong Kong. I purchased two dozen intricately beaded snowmen and angels. I envision a factory full of Chinese workers diligently stitching each bead onto my Frostys and Gabriels. Their eyebrows knitted together as they curse. "All this work to put on a tree for two weeks. Crazy people!"
One year, my Jewish boyfriend loaded me down with beautiful hand blown ornaments from Aventura on Columbus Avenue. But my most treasured ornament from him is a dill pickle in honor of my favorite food. Or was it because I liked the shape so much? Mmm, I'm not sure now!
In the early '90's, my husband and I hosted Christmas parties. Friends gave us beautiful ornaments. As I hang these, I vow to get in touch with each and every one of them.
I hang old Christmas cards if I deem the friend worthy enough. I have a 15-year-old card that gets displayed every year. It's from a friend who moved to LA with her husband and baby. Never mind that she has two more kids and is now divorced. When I hang that card, I get to reminiscence about something that no longer is.
I have ornaments commemorating my wedding and my children's births; handmade Sunday School ornaments from my children. I hang these with extra care.
My daughter finally did come to help. After hanging the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion, she skipped back to the TV room, content that she had done her job. (Only I get to handle Dorothy and Toto.)
Go ahead, judge me! Call child services!
As I got out my Christmas accouterments, (garland, ornaments, lights, stockings, snow globes, icicles, Santa salt and pepper shakers, earthenware North Pole teapot) I encouraged the kids to come help me until my throat hurt.
"Come on, you guys! Help me decorate this . . . gosh . . . dang . . . tree!" Eventually, I started putting the ornaments on by myself.
That's when it hit me. Each one of these ornaments take me to another time, another place.
In 1986, my roommate and I made ornaments. I picked up one of my favorites, a cross-stitched Gingerbread Man. "Run, run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man." Every time I read that book, I root for the little guy with the gummy bear buttons. Curse that fox for doing what comes naturally.
A year later, a friend and I went to Hong Kong. I purchased two dozen intricately beaded snowmen and angels. I envision a factory full of Chinese workers diligently stitching each bead onto my Frostys and Gabriels. Their eyebrows knitted together as they curse. "All this work to put on a tree for two weeks. Crazy people!"
One year, my Jewish boyfriend loaded me down with beautiful hand blown ornaments from Aventura on Columbus Avenue. But my most treasured ornament from him is a dill pickle in honor of my favorite food. Or was it because I liked the shape so much? Mmm, I'm not sure now!
In the early '90's, my husband and I hosted Christmas parties. Friends gave us beautiful ornaments. As I hang these, I vow to get in touch with each and every one of them.
I hang old Christmas cards if I deem the friend worthy enough. I have a 15-year-old card that gets displayed every year. It's from a friend who moved to LA with her husband and baby. Never mind that she has two more kids and is now divorced. When I hang that card, I get to reminiscence about something that no longer is.
I have ornaments commemorating my wedding and my children's births; handmade Sunday School ornaments from my children. I hang these with extra care.
My daughter finally did come to help. After hanging the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion, she skipped back to the TV room, content that she had done her job. (Only I get to handle Dorothy and Toto.)
Another year has come and gone. Good tidings to all!
