There are tiny hands wrapped in layers of fleece and wool, eyelashes dusted with snow, crimson cheeks and noses. I am pulling you both in a ratty plastic sled which has sat 100s of children who have walked these paths towed by huffing and puffing parents. We are searching, hunting, for the perfect Christmas tree to adorn our home. Checking for hidden brown needles, bare spots, fullness and height.
We place our tree in the front window and brew hot chocolate with whipped cream and mini marshmallows. On a special holiday platter sit seven different kinds of Christmas cookies and we watch the lights twinkle on our freshly cut tree as the crumbs settle in the corner of our lips. The sounds of the carolers echo in our ears as we carefully unwrap delicate ornaments who have been hibernating awaiting just this moment.
With steady careful hands we dress the tree. First the bulbs, then the ornaments, then saving the best for last — those Santa brings to our home on every December 6th. On the Eve of Saint Nicholas Day we place our Christmas lists on our bedroom floor and when we wake we are left with a special ornament chosen just for us.
This year I received a partridge in a pear tree.
My husband a hand blown bulb made in Romania with frosted trees.
Bear his favorite, a singing Scooby Doo ornament that the family dances to.
For Bella, a Santa who counts down the days until Christmas.
In years past we have been blessed with ornaments memorializing weddings, births, favorite moments. And they each are suspended on our tree, a moment, a memory, a dream frozen in time. The lights dance across them and I remember why I love this season, despite it all.
Linked with Just Write
