Christmas Tree Tales

Today the tree comes down and the ornaments get stowed away, not to be seen again until next Christmas, like old friends you only see once a year. From the chaos of that one box of ornaments comes a lifetime of stories, each one a reminder of a certain year, a certain time, a certain person.

I put away the one armed soldier into the box next to the little sheppardess and I am suddenly in the 4th grade again, reliving the story that grew around these two ornaments being in love. They will always be in love because of the intensity of that 4th grade girl and her story.

The lighthouse was supposed to be a gift to my father, the last one I bought him before he went into the home. He loved lighthouses. Now "his lighthouse" hangs on my tree, reminding me of how much he loved Christmas in spite of his grumpy complaints about longing for peace and quiet.

Every handmade ornament from my mother (one from every year of growing up and then some,) every yearly ornament to my little ones is another story. From Lima Bean's telephone from his early years of cell phone obsession or Morgan's first (and most expensive ornament) made from her very first sneaker - after she kicked the other one off somewhere in Sears, never to be seen again, only three days after getting them. Each ornament comes out and each story is told, sometimes out loud and sometimes only in my heart.

What objects hold your stories safe?