Each year as I toss out the last of the Thanksgiving turkey, tote the pumpkins back to the potting area, move the mums to some little noticed area of the garden, my thoughts head toward the coming of Christmas.
When Heather was home we would make a big deal of heading out to the tree farm the day after Thanksgiving to find the perfect tree. Later in the day, Roger would carry all the boxes downstairs, and we would begin the decorating. Roger was in charge of putting on the lights even though I was never short of advice of how to string them around or how many were needed (I always want more, more, more). Soon it was time to tackle the daunting task of finding the perfect spot for each ornament. Heather would hang her collection (she always found an ornament in her stocking on Christmas morning) and then help with the rest. She now has a home of her own with her own Christmas tree decorated with her collection. Roger and I may be a little slower in getting it all together, but our routine is pretty much the same.
As years have passed, I have admired friend's trees that are theme decorated; I have toyed with having someone come in to give me a show stopping tree. Then I remember the ornament Roger gave me the Christmas before Heather was born.
There is the Santa that came back with my family from Germany. I was two when we returned home. He no longer is allowed on the tree, as he seems to become more fragile each year. Growing up my brother and I would fight over who would hang him on our tree. This lovely old man and I are the same age. I am the fortunate keeper of several ornaments that survived the relocations of a military family, and my brother and I.
There is the Santa Claus I made when I was in kindergarten, made from a styrofoam ball, a triangle of red foil and some cotton, and, the apple Heather's first teacher, who has become a cherished friend, gave her. My dear friend's granddaughter is in my class this year.
There is the whale bone cross, a student in Nashville gave me shortly after he was diagnosed with leukemia. Each year as I take it out of the bubble wrap I pray is well and happy. It is given a place of honor.
And I can't forget the beautiful Santa Claus my son-in-law gave me the Christmas before he and Heather were married. I was overwhelmed with it's elegant beauty and his thoughtfulness.
I may never have a "show stopping" tree, but it will always stop my heart for a brief moment one night each December. You see, it is not a tree loaded with random pieces of colorful glass, wood, paper, dough and maybe some plastic. It is a record as vivid as a photograph of this family's life and love.
YES! That's the best kind of tree. My tree is the same way, and more so every year. I had to laugh about the lights - I don't like doing the lights but I always do, so this year I asked Davis, "why do I always have to do the lights?" and he said "because if I do them, you can't stop telling me what I'm doing wrong!"
ReplyDeleteA show-stopping tree is one that's made from a lifetime's accumulation of beautiful ornaments. I think yours passes that test, Bonnie. What a collection you have!
ReplyDeleteStrangely, I had no idea yours was a military family--maybe because you'd stopped moving when I met you. Were you born in Germany, then?
Vera - it's like being a backseat driver.
ReplyDeleteCharlotte - Daddy was in the Army for 36 years. I was in the fifth grade when he retired. He bought his little farm and returned to Ft. Polk as a civilian. No on really knew much about me. I didn't really fit in with the natives, because I wasn't from DeRidder. I didn't really fit in with the military kids, because I didn't have the same experiences, that I remembered. I was always the girl standing on the outside looking in. In many respects I feel the same way here.
Yes, I was born in Frankfurt. I have no memory, but I was fortunate to stay in contact with my nanny for many years. And there are photographs.