Branching out

Last year I dedicated this space to Christmas ornaments, which were lovingly lumped in with refrigerator magnets. Time capsules of our lives, I called them then, and I stand by the claim. The kitschy trinkets, while lacking much value on the resale market, are indeed priceless where our hearts and sentimentality are concerned. In the same article I sort of brushed off my collection of Waterford Christmas decorations, which really is my mom’s collection and which, when combined with my other tree décor, illustrates how sentimentality is in the eye of the beholder. More on that later.

Many of our Christmas decorations, a lot of which my wife and I gathered before we knew each other, are vestiges of our parents. Even grandparents. Both my mom, one of my aunts, and my wife’s mom and grandmother were champions of filling Christmas trees decades before those trees existed. Our families’ matrons gifted us with so many wonderful things. Each of us had a warehouse full of Christmas decorations before we started adding our own, which have since eclipsed the need for some very beautiful things.

On my side are an army of Hershey men and women, Danforth pewter ornaments, a paint-by-number collection my sister and I made as scouts, and others I inherited from my parents, along with a collection of handmade felt ornaments my aunt made for her church’s annual holiday bazaar – at least I think that’s the story; it’s been a long time.

None of those make any of our trees, of which some years we have as many as four. Our impressive (perhaps pathetic?) collection of Cleveland Browns décor only gets put up when the team is in the playoff hunt after Thanksgiving. So, never. I have enough of the Hershey stuff, handmade and decorated (probably in China), and hawked by the Pennsylvania chocolate marketer to decorate a small tree with only those things.

My wife has an equally remarkable collection of annual charms, including dozens from Hallmark’s collection, each part of a theme or with some kind of personal connection – lots of teacher-related stuff for her – most of it embossed with the year it came from. The heir has started to gather those as well. Speaking of the spawn, he has his own tree, right now covered in Star Wars memorabilia, among other things.

Someday, the pewter, the crystal and the chocolate all will be his, if he wants it. I did want those Waterford decorations, which include a striking nativity scene. Not because I like them so much but because mom did. The significance of that was not lost on me.

Sentimentality was her thing, kind of like affection was. Not at all. Except for crystal. She cherished it, every piece. From ornaments to wise men to mini cordial glasses to a tiny alligator, mom drew warmth from what is essentially melted sand and soda.

That nativity scene tells a story to everyone. For most, it’s a well-known tale of a birth. For me, it’s a reminder that, though she didn’t show it often, mom had a lot of love in her heart and wasn’t nearly as cold as she often seemed.

This Christmas, my first as an orphan, we decided to put up the crystal tree. Not for mom but because it’s beautiful. We had put it up a few times recently, usually hidden in the dining room, where nobody ever dines. This year it’s our main tree, and we enjoy its warmth nightly, unanimous in the notion that, if not our most sentimental, it is the most beautiful tree we have ever had.

That doesn’t mean we’ll ever put it up again, of course. After all, there’s something about an ornamental version of Cousin Eddie’s motorhome that says “Merry Christmas” like nothing else can.