Today I spent the better part of the afternoon trimming our Christmas tree, and it always makes me sentimental. Some of my ornaments are ages old and come from my former lives; putting them on the tree provides for recollections. On top of that, Earl and I have shared a dozen Christmases together, and they are well endowed with memories too.
I could write a book about the ornaments and their givers; each one is special; each one is unique. There’s the grand piano my good friend Noreen gave me, which is an exact replica in miniature of the grand piano I own. There’s the felt star my good friend Judi made for me before I met Earl. It was the year I had a tree trimming party and invited close friends to participate, as long as they brought an ornament to hang. One such ornament, a Wedgewood sleigh, represents a friendship I no longer have; hanging it makes me sad. I hang it anyway.
What I noticed most this year were the lights. I have never counted them, but I suspect we have two or three hundred lights on our tree. It may not seem like a lot, but I remember the Christmas I cajoled my Mother into getting lights for our tree for the first time. I was in seventh grade, considering myself wise in the ways of Christmas, and I pleaded fervently for those lights on our tree.
Finally, amid concerns that lights would start a fire, she gave in and consented to buy one strand. I saw it as a major victory for the holidays. The lights were not the tiny, twinkly type of today. Rather they were almost the size of the light you replace in your refrigerator. Nothing dainty; just utilitarian. But lights, nonetheless.
One strand contained eight lights of various colors, and I knew better than to beg for more. Instead I determined that all eight lights should be in the front of the tree in strategic positions, the better to illuminate the decorations. That Christmas, I spent hours arranging and rearranging those eight lights and deriving joy from every configuration.
Today I find putting lights on a Christmas tree to be tedious; it’s the part I like least. Maybe it’s because I can buy all the lights I want and make our tree light up like a firecracker; maybe it’s because there are so many that’s it’s not as special. Regardless, it seems eight lights meant more to me in a simpler time than a couple hundred do today.
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