When my kids were young, not only did I deck out the house, I would hang Christmas lights all over our front porch windows, the bushes, and the tree. I bought presents that would be from Santa and wrapped them in special paper, different than the presents from me. That was until I got tired of some fictional character getting credit for all of my hard work and I told my kids the truth. They were still fairly young, maybe that’s why it wasn’t long afterwards that they stopped caring about decorations and all the traditions that went along with it.
I remember the first year I asked for help putting up the tree and their response was, “Do we have to?” it was downhill from there. However, the most memorable account was the argument about helping me hang some Christmas lights. With all their protests, one would have thought I was asking for help with a monumental project (in all honesty, untangling lights can be a nightmarish experience). I said to them, “It’s not like I’m asking you to hang them up in the nude.” Their response to that has become a holiday family tradition in itself. In a whiny voice they said, “My mom makes me hang up Christmas lights, in the nude.” Over the years, they have said it so many times, for so many reasons I warned them that someday they are going to get me in trouble because someone may actually believe them!
Holiday traditions come in all shapes and sizes, but having worked in retail the past twenty years, mine involve staying home and enjoying the peace and quiet of being still. I have a house full of food and booze, but a simple meal of honey baked spiral cut ham (graciously gifted to my family every year for the past twenty-five), scalloped potatoes, green beans and Pillsbury Crescent Rolls are obligatory. I have an extensive collection of Christmas music I enjoy listening to and thankfully an equally impressive collection of Rankin/Bass Christmas specials on video tape (yes, I still have a VCR). These are my traditions, but the decorating part has sadly died.
These days, I own a small pre-lit Christmas tree that I have lazily packed away with ornaments intact, but many years I don’t even put that out. A simple strand of lights is strewn among the jungle that thrives near my dining room windows. In my home office, lives some sort of evergreen that I have had for well over a decade. Some years I put a strand of lights on it and call it quits, but this year I have actually put a few ornaments on it. I used the ones that are given to me each year from the company I work for. Usually I look at them with disdain thinking, not another one, but I figure it’s their way of giving us a thank you for staying with the company long enough that we have a tree full of said ornaments.
I have a small precious Santa collection that I like to put out and a few large glass ball ornaments that have their own stands. I will put them out on occasion because simply put, they are shiny gold and beautiful, but more times than not, I don’t. Instead, I spend time digging through the boxes, looking at them, but not actually displaying them. I like to hold them and take a moment to remember how they came to be in my possession and for a moment, I’m transported back in time and smile. These ornaments are my records of times past, times when my kids were little and still eagerly awaited the holidays. Actually, some of the ornaments are not fancy at all, but ones they had made, these are the ones I treasure the most. I even have one or two that I made as a child out of homemade clay, sloppily painted, cracked and chipped, but priceless because of the memories they hold for me.
I think of myself, not as a shiny gold ornament worthy of being displayed on a stand for all to admire, but more like the simple child made ornament, a miniature time capsule, a keeper of memories. I like to think that the little stories I share are records of the people, places and things I hold dear and like to share with others. My stories are like the photo Christmas cards I have been sending since the first one of my eldest laying bare bottom on his tummy wearing a tiny little Santa hat. I know for a fact; his godmother cherishes that one. Oh the embarrassment my children have endured when I request they pose for yet another Christmas card photo. This past year was no exception, even though we were not able to pose all together, I made a card with a culmination of photos expressing the story I chose to tell this year. My youngest thought the picture of him made him look fat and stupid, the eldest felt he looked ridiculous, I saw how truly handsome, intelligent, and charming they really are.
While stopping at my god sent of a mechanic’s shop to drop off some holiday cheer, along with their verbal gratitude, they showed me how they still have hanging in their office two Christmas cards of mine that honor my father. Dad used to hang out there, smoking cigars and sharing his glorious stories with them. One is of Dad with my children flanking him and the other was the last card I ever sent with a picture of him on it, a memorial I wrote on the backside of our annual holiday greeting. On that one, he dons a shit eating grin, a moment captured of him enjoying his life to the fullest. My father thought less of himself due to his financial stature in life. I believe his love of repeatedly telling his stories of his glory days, was a way of seeing himself in a different light, the light he wanted others to see him in. Those cards remain hanging in my mechanic’s office, the sides curling from age as a memorial to the man, the legend, his stories and the stories I share by sending out my cards.
I am a record keeper and I am story teller. Yes, these are my stories or more aptly put, my version of my experiences, the way I see things. On many occasions, I see myself in the worst light possible. It is something I live with, my struggle to endure in this lifetime. I always manage to find my way through the darkness and back to the true light of who I am, a simple child made ornament, cracked and chipped, but filled with cherished memories. I also possess the gift to see the best in others. Sometimes I lie to myself about who someone is and what their true intentions are, but I like to believe I also see a glimmer of their potential. When a loved one or sometimes even a total stranger speaks of themselves in a negative light, one I do not see, I take the time to enlighten them. I share with them what I see, like gazing into a beautiful, shiny gold Christmas ornament, I see all the wonderful memories and all the glorious possibilities of who they are.
Like all my favorite Rankin/Bass holiday specials, like all my favorite holiday songs, I have a gift to give to you. It doesn’t come wrapped in a big box with a fancy ribbon, it won’t arrive by a magical sleigh pulled by flying reindeer, but it comes from my heart. My gift to you is a wish. My wish for you is to see yourself as I see you. A spiritual being that is having a physical experience, one that I have been fortunate enough to touch with my words, my records and my little stories. Merry Christmas!
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
2 Comments
Leave your reply.