Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree

When I was a child, we were very poor.  We, like all children, wanted a Christmas tree in the middle of our living room.  I  remember more than once begging the teacher for the tree which adorned our classroom. With coats open and hair flying in the wind, we dragged that pathetic thing the mile through the snow to our house.  The chain of construction paper circles bounced along on the ground behind us.  Needles and tinsel left a trail.  No matter.  It was a fabulous green piney smelling Christmas tree.  It was ours!  At home we usually had a string of lights; the big old fashioned ones.  When those lights were turned on at dusk and the children saw it for the first time,  that tree was as magical as any in the finest home.

As an adult, I have created some of the most fabulous trees.  Once I made a small forest of four trees all decorated in different styles, set in the middle of the great room.  It's still all about that child inside of me who did not have enough magic.  This year I set up one tall skinny pencil tree. On the porch, the neighbors could see it all the way down the block.  I really did that for the two little boys who live across the street.  They believe in magic. It was lovely.  Deconstructing the tree is not nearly as much fun as putting it together, but it must be done.  I know.  Some people leave theirs up all year, but how can one prepare for spring with a Christmas tree on the porch?  As the ornaments came down, one by one, I thought about their origin.  When Joe was here at Christmas, I showed him a small ornament given to his father and I by his grandmother on our first Christmas.  That was 30 years ago.  A tiny couple stand together with our first names on a tiny gold plaque at the base. I've saved it and cherished it for him these 30 years.  Orlynn Anderson knew how to make Christmas special.  She once tucked $100 bills in the folded hands of angels on the mantle; one for each child.  She taught me how to decorate a house, prepare a Christmas feast, set a lovely table and nab all the good ornaments on the day after Christmas sale.   When she died of ALS, I felt as though my own mother had died.  She was a fine home maker and a very good mother.  Joe looked at the ornament and shrugged.  "Ya, so?"  His father and I have been divorced for many years.  I tucked that away once more, knowing that even though he may never appreciate it, his children will.  Divorce does not mean one stops loving the other or forgets the cherished memories.  It is sad.  Bittersweet.