Like many people, the last few days have had a lot of errands to run, small tasks to manage and gatherings to plan. We've had a lot of LOUD. Vigorous car conversation. Loud singing, exclamations of joy and despair, background "All I want for Christmas is YOOOUUUUUUUU" and the like. There's been some pretty loud laughter.
At one point yesterday Bean came out of the bathroom crying: "There's a MONSTER in there." Babygirl's priceless reply? "Well, stop looking in the mirror."
Many of you are aware that I am a natural introvert. I need peace and quiet to recharge, one of the reasons I tend to get up early in the morning.
By noon today I was home, so I made beef stew in the crock-pot for dinner. Then I took a look at our tree, a notable work in progress LOL. The bin of ornaments has been sitting next to my chair since Thanksgiving, entered into periodically by short people of varied tastes and heights. The grandkids are occupied upstairs, so I opted for a solitary session of finishing up the tree.
I set my phone to Celtic Harp Music and got to work.
Some music helps bring space into the soul.
We all possess layers and layers of memories. And there is nothing like a box of ornaments for a good archaeological dig through a lot of years.
My great-grandmother was a German immigrant, but since the Pickle Ornament was created by American Germans, we never heard of that. However, no tree was complete without gilded nuts and pinecones, and I have a handful of those cones to remember her by.
My grandmother loved music, and although the small set of tiny ceramic orchestra ornaments I once had have broken and disappeared, I have replaced them with brass horns and guitars along the way.
My mom loved anything, ANYTHING that would go on a Christmas tree, especially straight silver tinsel hung JUST SO. Any unwanted aging ornaments were donated to us kids to make a festive mess of the upstairs hall with. As her life narrowed with age, her last tree was a tiny thing. One of the last boxes I opened today yielded me a double handful of tiny glass balls, teddy bears, Santas and rocking horses, the last ornaments she purchased. I don't have a lot of her earlier ones, although I'm betting she glittered up a couple of those pinecones. The ornament Hospice gave her for her last Christmas is there.
My aunt and uncle donated a ton of stuff to me when they closed their store and moved local. Mercifully, I have managed to break most of it.
My angel was a give from my dad and his wife, an old-fashioned hand-crocheted-and-starched beauty. Currently Squeaker has given her a candy cane, placed on her shoulder and ready to be thrown javelin-style.
There are the obligatory and much-loved hand made kid ornaments. There is an ornament I hand made in prison to kill time on a visit there to the foster kids' mom. There is one remaining of the Three Little Pigs that Citygirl adored. Lots of coworkers have contributed. There are ornaments from many patients, including one odd little cat-on-a-pillow gifted to me in my first year in practice shortly before the patient died, a heartful of lessons learned.
Some go back to somewhat lonelier seasons when I was away from home and made do with what I had, or celebrated with fellow students and residents. I have one absolutely amazing memory of a full southern Thanksgiving dinner gifted by an attending physician for those of us stuck on call. And there was one Christmas Eve walking hand in hand with Citygirl's dad through Rockefeller Center and St Patrick's cathedral.
There remains magic in us if we take the time to let the harps play. My tree is finished, and a different kind of beautiful than it was before I added on.
DeeDee
PS Our recent visit to Rochester was a blessed non-event. All is well. Follow up in MARCH.
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