OrnaMental Memories

Today I danced through more than forty years of memories while trimming our Christmas tree. In all fairness, it is really my tree, in that Michael has yet to see it decorated, and the ornaments are symbols of my eccentric past, not his. Some of these collected decorations evoke joy and sweetness, while others are bittersweet and bring understanding of what was and what will never be.

The tree is artificial and I leave it strung with lights when it is stored; adding the glitz is easy. I began by clipping on four dragonfly ornaments I love so dearly that they remain in the living room year round clinging to a lampshade. These bejeweled fliers coupled with a wreathed bluebird remind me of my sister Dee Ann and our shared love of nature.

Adding the glass balls and baubles stirred up more sentiment. The resplendent, tiny cardinals on the wintry spheres reminded me of Christmas in Michigan and Mum’s love of the striking scarlet birds in the snow. The woodchip cardinal Patty sent me stood out against the evergreen, a reminder of a lovely Christmas centerpiece she sent me years ago.

I carefully hung the six glittery pinecones I bought at Frank’s Nursery on sale after Christmas, at a time when purchasing any ornament was a total luxury because I was living below the poverty level. I always return them to the original packaging when I take the tree down to protect that small yet significant investment.

I placed the two starfish-painted-to-look-like-Santa ornaments in prominent areas on the tree. I visualized with clarity when Dad and I attended a craft show in Florida. Yet I can’t imagine why we were there together as this was so uncharacteristic of him. He insisted that I select two of these questionable trinkets as a gift from him. Sadness washed over me as I perched the starfish Santas in the branches; Dad is recently enveloped by dementia and he would never recall this moment we had together, let alone our most recent conversation.

Seventeen years ago I had major surgery; my sister Lauri stayed with me to aid in my recovery. We were able to attend a craft show during this time and Lauri purchased some whimsical homemade reindeer for my tree. The artist twisted thick red and white chenille stems in the shape of a candy cane then added tiny wiggle eyes and antlers to create the silly critter. I poked the deer into the branches with a sweet remembrance of healing, laughter and celebration.

Friends have gifted me ornaments, including extraordinary Pat (pewter hummingbird), childhood friend Sue (tiny painted gourd), best friend Diana (silvered glass clip-on peacock). As I added them to the tree, I embraced thoughts of these relationships and gave heartfelt thanks.

I delighted in the handmade ornaments: A teeny-tiny cross-stitched wreath stitched by Patty while in living Germany, the beeswax Santa I created, a precious felt kitty with a stocking in its mouth and the highly detailed felt Santa (who can sew and turn seams on something that small?). These are among my favorites.

The glass frog… to hang or give away? My wasband David and I bought him during a time I was in denial about the lack of true intimacy in our marriage. I lived on hope and illusion for years and finally initiated our separation. But I still adored the playful frog so it rests happily in the security of the tree.

Post-David and Pre-Michael, I purchased a number of very colorful, flashy ornaments, contrasting with the more traditional ones used year after year. I viewed these as a statement of my independence from people pleasing (only certain ornaments are acceptable) and a newfound sense and appreciation of the real me. I relished these bright spots on the tree and in my life.

My sense of self grew evident in the personal touches: Grover, my favorite little blue guy. The honeybee sitting in an overstuffed chair while sewing, the many sheep ornaments from the time I was spinning and weaving as a part of my identity, the sewing accessories, a thimble, an iron, knitting needles pushed through a tiny ball of yarn. All speak to years of creativity, fun and exploration.

I admit some ornaments never made it out of the storage box this year. Either they are too heavy (literally and figuratively) or I just ran out of space and energy. Other adornments have already been passed on to thrift stores or landfill. Whatever was no longer needed moved on with my blessing.

As I reflected and wrote this piece, I noticed Valentino - with outstretched arms - next to me at the computer. He’s an over-the-top, enthusiastic monkey puppet Michael gave me for Valentine’s Day. No second-guessing myself here: the little primate is moving to the Christmas tree! He is the first ornament of our shared history, making the tree Michael’s, too. Our very own monkey angel will rule from the very top representing the total joy we have in each other. This is a memory I want to keep alive with every breath and each time I trim the tree while dancing with the past.