Saturday, December 11, 2010


          Today I love my living room. Our little scoliosis tree, purchased years ago when my son was a toddler, still stands. Strung with brilliant white-blue lights, it barely holds the heavy blue ornaments and plastic snowflakes. The homemade star on the top tilts backwards, hanging on for dear life, not knowing it if can resist gravity until it is carefully taken down and stored for next year.  The green wires of the light strand are thick and undulating, clearly visible in the twisted branches. Too bad the lights can't rest there, hidden in foliage, as if it were a naturally occurring phenomena. I suppose lights on trees are to mimic beads of moisture catching sunlight.  But I like the tree none the less.  It peers out the window at the blue spruce on the lawn, drenched with real Christmas rain.

          On the mantle is the green, plastic, cedar garland that we used at our wedding. I like taking it out of the box, white ribbons still entwined with the odd coral coloured dried flower...a tickle to the memories of a vowday those many years ago.  There is a glass vase filled with precious-to-me, old ornaments. Striped and glittered, some scratched, they hung on Grandma's tree way back in the 40's. Relegated to the curb, I snatched them readily, fragile though they are.  There is the standard poinsettia on the hearth, a hand carved Santa reading a long list of familiar names and a red twisted candle I found deep in the bottom of my father's sideboard.

         Before long, it will be time to hide away these meager treasures. Covered in tissue in dusty boxes they’ll rest till next year to be reclaimed again. But for today, I’ll light a fire and watch the flames dance in their shininess and remember.

Grandma's old Christmas ornaments

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