And then it happened. I was carefully putting away Christmas decorations, and I was hit by a very odd sensation. I had done this before. So many times before, only not in my own home.
I am 15 years old. I am bringing down boxes from my Grandmother’s crawl space. She has a map of her crawl space, which carefully outlines what every box is and where it is in the tiny space. When we bring down the boxes there is the familiar smell of old wax, evergreens, and mustiness. I hastily dive into boxes, knowing I’m going to pull out treasures that remind me of every Christmas from my childhood. She swats my hand to slow me down. And we begin.
Unwrapping ornaments. Unraveling carefully stored lights. Pulling out knick knacks from the 1920′s through 1970′s. Setting up the advent table. Yes, a table designated every year for the advent calendar from 1952 (with the original prayer listing) and the candles from early in her marriage. Although the paper is yellowed from age, it does not have a tear, a spot, or any other signs that it has been mishandled. With every box opened, with every item set in its place, there is a story. I’m usually brought back to a story that involves her sister-in-laws (Aunt Lou and Aunt Helen) or other people I have never met. Lest you think I would dare forget any of the origins of these very important heirlooms, my grandmother carefully marks and labels items using a very fancy method: masking tape or a piece of paper safety pinned to the item. Both have her familiar writing in blue ink, stating where the item is from and the year it came into the family collection. Not all of the items have these tags, but the significant ones do. The original Christmas tree from the first year in her marriage – I always thought the Charlie Brown tree was based upon this Depression era tree. There was also the nativity display, that had a few chips (mostly from me making Mary talk to the Kings). I tear up thinking about how she could remember so much, as I remember very little from this past weekend, let alone 30 Christmases ago!
The other half of the ritual was the taking down of the decorations. It was an afternoon operation, filled with her dictating to me and sometimes my brothers, exactly how something was to be stored. Even though she filled my belly with Olga’s fudge (her friend for many years) and every kind of cookie, I do remember getting impatient about the process. Certain breakables had specific tissue paper that had to be used. Mind you, it was the ORIGINAL tissue paper. I would roll my eyes. She would pat my arm, and say, “Now listen kid, you got to do this right.” I wish I had pictures to show of these decorations, because based upon my description of her care and handling, you would think these were items purchased from the original Tiffany’s Christmas line (if that exists). My favorite part of the process was taking the tinsel off the tree and hanging it on a coat hanger, year after year. Tinsel. Yes, the stuff you buy for $1.99.
And so, we went through this ritual every year that I can remember until I moved away to start my own family.
My husband and I started our Christmas together with ornaments his mother had given us as a gift, a beautiful Nativity set, and my childhood ornaments sent from Illinois to me from my mother. We slowly have built upon our Christmas decorations – nothing crazy. Of all my grandmother’s traits, I must have embraced the simplicity of her lifestyle. However, until recently, I must admit, I believed I had none of this organized, pack-rat tendency. Well, at least that’s what I thought.
As I stood with the Boy, unwrapping ornaments, he asks me the story behind some of them. I would tell him about the German bells my grandmother and I made from old Christmas cards (my grandmother was green before it was trendy to green). Or, my favorite childhood ornament, a wooden one – a girl with red braids and my name on the back. My nativity set comes out of its original box, with the original tissue paper, and he sets them up to play with them. I unravel garland that was purchased when we first moved to a house with a staircase (so, 8 years ago?) We purchased red bows at the same time – a big bag of bows for $5.99.
So, you see nothing crazy. Yet, as I am standing putting away the decorations, I have this eerie feeling. I am pressing out the bows, making sure they are not crinkled, neatly placing them in the plastic bag they came home from the store in … and I am hit by this image of me and the tinsel at my grandmother’s house. I could very easily purchase a newer, fancier, prettier bag of bows … but each year I store them, display them, and tend to their care like I spent $100′s on them.
Is this relevant to anything? I find it connected to everything – but I find it most helpful in my recent task of teaching my Boy the value of things we own. (Specifically why you shouldn’t leave your new video game on the floor of your bedroom…) My grandmother valued these items not just for the space they filled in her tiny house, but for the stories that came with each item. Her house was not over done with decorations, rather simple, meaningful pieces she had cared for year after year. And, with that she taught me about value and family.
How are we teaching our children to value not only their personal affects, but how to value their lives?
Much like Christmas decorations with my grandmother, everything is a process – a timely, meaningful, sometimes painstaking, process filled with love.
