Comfort From My Christmas Tree

It took several days of  napping, after working the store for Don on Black Friday, for me to recharge. We own the Go Fish Clothing & Jewelry Co. located on the Marietta Square. Since Don has worked Thanksgiving weekend for five years running, I encouraged him to head south to his family farm this year. His kids and grandkids had planned a trip there as well. While I expected the day to take a toll, I didn't expect to still need a nap after a shower three days later.

Some memories are worth the added effort though, even if boredom strikes during recovery.  Sometimes the silence (or mindless TV) turns my living room into a lost place;  a prison of sorts, especially if the tiredness drags on and it takes days to shift into a higher gear.

But this week was different.

My oldest son, Nathan, arrived home several days before Thanksgiving and pulled out Christmas boxes. Since I was laying low in preparation for the big Friday, the two of us slowly filled our house with season decor. We spread it out over three days. By the time we ate turkey, however, my living room sparkled.

The tree was up. Lights covered the front porch. And the boxes were back upstairs.

As I sat in my living room, succumbing to nap after nap, I realized how much comfort I found from my Christmas tree. It's not  fancy and leans at the top with varied (and aging) ornaments. But distant memories came alive with its presence in the room.

My first husband and I picked up a box of these little China girls when we smuggled Bibles over Asian borders. She's not my favorite. But I love the memory.

 

Next to her hangs a reminder of why we moved back to Atlanta from Nashville a few years after that trip. With the 1996 games looming, my graphic artist/freelance illustrator hoped for more work in the peach state.

 

One year to save money,  he hand decorated glass ornaments to give away as Christmas gifts. This is a photo of one of my three:

Don's former wife, also an artist with impeccable taste, left several of these fine snowmen packed away in boxes. I love them. And I love having part of her mixed in our tree. After three years of combining ornaments, they're all blending together.

My camera battery died or I'd post a few more photos. But there's a large globe with glittery butterflies symbolizing the years we spent traveling to Fantasy in Lights at Callaway Gardens. Trips to The Day Butterfly House included.

There's a Swedish doll with one arm my grandparents gave me as a child. In fact, my tree is full of ornaments my grandparents gave through the years. Glass nativity globes. Wooden pianos. Ceramic angels.

And there's the stained glass ornaments papa made. The same papa who taught my son to craft similar ornaments for his friends. That story's so good, it's already been published: A Stained Glass Healing.

Memories of our families hang all over our tree. So while the room is silent, the tree tilts forward, and my tired body requires rest, it's just a little less lonely.

When we pulled out the boxes, the task seemed daunting. But now I'm grateful for the comfort I feel; comfort from a Christmas tree. A tree that reminds me of family.

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