Decorations "Make" the Tree

When I was about 5 or so, for reasons I was too young to remember, we didn’t have any Christmas ornaments.  So my mother purchased a package of construction paper, scissors, glue and glitter.  For several weeks, we sat around making paper decorations.  We had snow-men with real twig arms, paper candy canes, wreaths, Santa’s and reindeer.  My mother even made little collage scenes of our house.  And of course we made miles of paper-chains!  Crowning this beauty was our star: cardboard covered with tin-foil and doused in every color of glitter we had!  My mother still raves about that tree; and we both have fond memories of all the time we spent making all those little curios.

The year after that, we had a few more ornaments, but my mother insisted on mostly using those paper decorations we’d made the year before.  In fact, the star was our standard for several years, and I think she still has it buried away somewhere, along with some of the more memorable of the other items.

By the year I was seven, we still didn’t have very many ornaments. But I had received a brand new Singer Sewing machine from my grandfather the year before, and mom had a plan to decorate the tree, which still did not include store-bought ornaments.

Instead, she had found fabric of little cloth Christmas Angels, ready to be cut and sewn together into ornaments.  I can’t tell you how long I worked on those buggers, but it sure seemed like a long time to a seven year old.  Each one had two identical sides, of course, which had to be sewn together, leaving a small opening. Then I had to carefully turn them right-side out, using a chop-stick to push out the corners, stuff them with cotton, and meticulously hand stitch that little opening. By the time I was done, we probably had about 100 of these decorations, and I had become pretty good at sewing!

Those were the ornaments we used for most of my child-hood.  Admittedly they were very handy with animals and a toddler in the house! My mother bragged about how I had personally made each of those decorations, to everyone who would possibly listen.  And when I left home, all but a few of those Angels came with me, to start my own tree!

As an adult, I look at those Angels, and think about the paper decorations, and shake my head about how imperfect they were.  But no matter how poorly I think those items look, my mother remembers all of it with pride. Pride at my creativity, my resourcefulness, and my coordination in making them all!  And her pride, and the things I learned from making those projects, has become one of my own fond memories!

Haunted by the Ghosts of Thanksgiving Past

For many years when I was a child, every Wednesday before Thanksgiving our house was invaded by a plethora of relatives, with a record total of 18 at our table by the time dinner was actually served on Thursday one memorable year.  Wednesday afternoon my mother would exit society to begin the process of cooking: baking the pies, stringing the beans, whipping the cream, and anything else that could be done the day before.  Thursday morning she would be up at 4:00am to start the 25 pound turkey, then make cinnamon rolls for breakfast.  Mom would have a couple of minutes to drink coffee over breakfast and pretend to relax with everyone. Then she’d be off again to continue cooking! Rather than lunch, we’d enjoy salmon pâté on rye bread, with Sparkling Apple Cider in the afternoon while we salivated over the smell of turkey and baking bread.

By 5:00 our formal dining room was decked out in china, crystal stem-ware and silver.  Cloth napkins in fancy folds. Casserole dishes, salt and pepper shakers, and gravy boats matching the china. And a spread of food fit to feed an army of French gourmets. Everyone arrived at the table scrubbed and polished, in their Sunday best, and sat patiently in candlelight while the pictures were taken.

The family would chat about inconsequentials and eat for nearly an hour! Even so, we hardly seemed to make a dent on the mounds and mounds of food that my mother had taken so long to prepare.  When we finally abandoned the idea of being able to stuff any additional food down our own gullets, everyone slowly moved away from the table.  Of course my Grandfather would lead the charge of men into the living room to watch meaningless television, while my mother and I lead the attack on the platoon of dishes from the table, and attempted to fit all the left-overs back into the refrigerator. Of course, we were hampered by the phenomenon of how things once un-packed, never fit back into the original container, but somehow, eventually, we prevailed. 

It usually took about an hour to get the kitchen back in some semblance of order, and start the first load of dishes.  By then, the masses felt ready to indulge in pie.  And most everyone would try a couple of different flavors of pie, from a choice of usually no less than four!

So, I have found that whenever I visualize Thanksgiving, this is what I see as “right”.  Somehow I feel that dinner should include an overflowing table, served on matching china, to dressed-up guests.  Recently, when I learned that we were expected to partake in Thanksgiving Dinner at my husband’s Grandmother’s Nursing Home, I found myself disappointed that this event would surely not live up to the expectations that my childhood experiences had set in me.

And then it struck me: the memories I have of those long ago Thanksgivings are great, they taught me an ideal to strive for.  But I was being held prisoner by the ideal!  I need to be able to embrace this opportunity to meet my in-laws, and become part of their family!  China and silver don’t make the Holiday: the friends and family at the meal are what make it important and memorable! 

May we all be blessed with mis-matched dishes, plastic utensils and lots of happy family and friends at our Thanksgiving tables this Holiday!  And of course, the time to enjoy them!! 

Beginnings

One can get so bogged down with all the day to day details of life: taking care of the house, cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, working…and then there are the bigger things, like leading your son’s Cub Scout Group, Home-schooling that same son, dealing with the exhaustion, hormonal overload and other symptoms of an Advanced Maternal Age pregnancy, fixing and updating an older home…..well, it all just becomes mundane and you forget that you actually ARE happy and enjoying your life!!

And then you see the excitement in the big brown eyes of your son as you read a book together, snuggled under the blankets.  Standing over the stove, for the um-teenth-million time, when the love of your life wraps his arms around you as a silent thank you and acknowledgement of all you do. Over the game board at the dining-room table, you see your love and happiness reflected in the eyes of your family.  And you know, without a doubt, that through all the frustrations and run-down moments of your life, things are GOOD!

But while you enjoy your life, is there anything in there, in that life, that might interest others? Are there other people that share your moments of joy, and frustration, hopes and fears…? Surely there are! But then again, the other question is: Does it matter? Perhaps just the act of regularly reminding yourself of the good things that have happened in your life, the mis-steps that ultimately led to a better outcome, and all the things that add up to the life you have…perhaps reminding yourself is the point. 

So here I begin my journey. Down a path that many have traveled before me, into the world of Blogging! I take this opportunity to shout out both my joys and my frustrations.  To remind myself that each is important and has coalesced into this one life that I am living.  I remind myself that although it might seem meaningless at the moment, every day something happens that leads to something new in the next. That while memories of my childhood might be far from my mind, they have contributed greatly to the person I am today. I celebrate them all! And invite you to celebrate with me, if you’d like!