Ho Ho Hold on a Second...

I have a confession to make: last year Brian and I did not put up a Christmas tree. Now, while you pick your jaw up off the floor (or laugh at me for sounding so melodramatic about it) realize that for the previous eight or so years we have had a very firm tradition. As soon as we can after Thanksgiving, we travel out to Granville to the Timbuk Tree Cutting farm and pick out an appropriate tree. We cut it down, struggle to fit it into the car, and bring it home. We also walk around Granville and take in the sights. I love eating at the soda shoppe cafe there, and take comfort in the fact that my maternal grandmother (Gloria Woods "Glo") went to school at Dennison and not much has changed. We stop at the little book store and usually buy a few books. We always marvel at the size of the houses there.

We put the tree up and haul out the decorations from the basement. Each of us has a large collection from years of gifts but mine is particularly special. Every year as far back since I was a baby both Glo and her mom, my great-grandmother (Grace Danner) would give the children ornaments and write the names and the year on them. Not long ago, my mom started giving me Christopher Radko ornaments, including his annual breast cancer awareness ornament. After Brian and I married she started also gifting us the annual White House collection ornament.
Seriously - we have a collection of collectors pieces as well as sentimental, priceless artifacts with history all their own.

And last year we did not put up a tree.

So this year we did.

And when we hauled out the ornament box I opened it to find that mold had invaded the box.

Not just invaded - taken over and won.

As I made my way through layer upon layer of ruined ornaments to pick out the ones which were salvageable, I found my self becoming more and more upset. But why? These were only material artifacts. They cannot replace the memories I have. Many were handcrafted and of felt or wood. Some were even made by Glo or Grace themselves. Certainly in my teen years, I didn't appreciate these gifts. They hold no monetary value and I wouldn't make any money on eBay with them. But as I sat there and lifted out a fabric unicorn that was a gift from Glo and marked my Christmas as a 5 year old and the fabric crumbled with mold and mildew, I crumbled inside. Is this what it's like to grow old? To feel your memory slip away? Neither Grace nor Glo are around to ask them what the ornament meant or why they chose it for me. Maybe that's why I became so upset. The sodden pieces of fabric and mold covered wood were ties to the past that help sustain something, even if it truly doesn't exist anymore.

I salvaged what I could, vowed to purchase new containers and Brian promised to store them in a different area of the basement. When it was all done the tree still sparkled with the multi-colored disorganized glow of a homespun, non-designer tree. And I know that even in the years to come,when we don't put up a tree, I will haul up the ornaments and check on them, and maybe even take them out to adore them one by one and admire the tenuous gifts they hold.