It felt very odd to not decorate my Christmas tree with my son, but I didn’t want to leave it bare for two weeks. I decided to put the tree in the corner by my bookcases, and I’m enjoying having one this year, even though I think I’m a bit allergic to it.
My lack of skill with a camera made this a kind of cool picture where the light trails remind me of Santa’s reindeer, flying through the air:
Christmas trees look so much better in the dark!
When I was four or five, until I was nine or so, I’d shimmy under the Christmas tree every year, looking up through the branches with un-focused eyes until the lights resembled something like this:
Almost every ornament holds a special memory, or marks stages of my adult life. My first serious boyfriend and I bought frosted glass bulbs for our first Christmas together. He got half of them when we broke up seven years later. I doubt he kept his, but I’m glad I still have mine.
My son made a few ornaments during his grammar school years that bring back those Christmases to me when I hang them up. A hardened dough, glazed, and painted bone he made in his sixth grade class, (the year my mother got a beagle from the animal shelter, and the dog was on my son’s mind when he created the ornament), and a variety of others from my son’s first Christmas, to this year’s ornament that the folks at the tree farm gave to everyone buying a tree, commemorating the volunteers who helped with clean up and salvage after Hurricane Irene’s flood devastation this past August.
© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.