I LOVE Christmas trees. They are my favorite seasonal thing out of the entire year. Sometime before I was born someone made a good decision that I would be a collector of ornaments. Some of my vast collection of ornaments go all the way back to my birth.
We’re always together as a family when we decorate the tree, with Nat King Cole in the background and trayfuls of goodies to follow on the coffee table, and then we turn out all the lights except the fire in the fireplace and and the lights on the tree.
I love seeing the conglomeration of childhood creations, precious heirloom balls and tarnished silver teddies all lit up. Nothing ever gets left off – even the tin can lid with “1994” pounded into it with hammer and nails. Each has a special placement which has nothing to do with face value – my most prominent ornament is losing more of its ribbon candy stripe every year. Each one has a precious history, a giver and/or a creator, and many fond memories of placing it on the tree every year as a child, such as the balls which my father and I painstakingly created out of Christmas napkins, glitter and styrofoam craft balls when I was 4 or 5 years old and we were living in New York City. We put those on together every year.
This memory has now doubled. We had the home family party and we also had a smaller version in my apartment living room with Mom, Beka, Josh, Andy, me and our little fake apartment tree – but still complete with Nat King Cole, Grandpa’s sweet pickles and all those pretty memory-filled ornaments.