I looked at my beautiful Christmas tree and sighed. It was time. The New Year was a week old and my tree still stood in the corner of our room with its collection of memories proudly displayed in a shower of colorful lights. I’d procrastinated long enough.
I got up, went to the garage and hauled all the boxes into the room. The garland was the first to come down. The tree looked naked already. I took the large ornaments off next. They made a large pile on our bed. An hour later, our bed was covered with Christmas memories. Each pile contained an ornament along with its matching brothers and sisters from sets purchased many years ago.
I prepared the boxes and carefully placed ornaments in their protective packaging, pausing every few minutes to admire a favorite. “Hey, little Santa!” I held the Santa from my childhood. “Thanks for being my friend for almost fifty years.” He was a little ragged but still gives me a flood of wonderful memories. “Until next year, my dear friend.”
There was a collection of handmade ones. My children made them in their first years of school, more than twenty years ago. Made by tiny hands, they are far from perfect in design, but every year they go on my memory tree – memories of young giggles on Christmas morning and a smiling face when they handed them to me when I came home from work. “Look what we made, Daddy!”
“Oh! It is beautiful. Let’s find a special spot on the tree for it.”Read More »