My fondest childhood memory of the holidays fermented itself in my mind during the Christmas season. It is not the memory of gifts under the tree, fantastic meals, parts in Christmas plays or parties that stands out in my recollection, but a pair of shining eyes.
My mother’s shining eyes, in be exact, glistening with joy as she unwrapped the glittering treasures that laid hidden in their boxes for the mundane months of the year. Balls and baubles that sparkled and gleamed, reflecting in her eyes. I loved to watch her unwrap each ornament telling us the story behind it. The way she would smile as she delighted in the stories that filled our minds with pictures, were always gentle. She would lay out her treasures upon a bed of tissue and newsprint, old wrapping paper and bits of cloth. They twinkled in the light of dozens of candles placed about our den, adding to the glow of the fireplace flames.
Several large baskets filled with pine cones we had gathered after being trussed up in our winter wear from head to toe. The pine cones, scented with cinnamon, were placed with cedar sprigs in Mamas collection of natural woven baskets. The air in the room was clean and crisp with cedar. Cinnamon, pine and cedar, the smells of our Christmas holidays.
We always sat as a family, Mama, Daddy, my sister and I, and strung gallons of popcorn on thread while watching Rankin Bass and Peanuts Christmas specials on the big console television in the corner. More popcorn was eaten than was put on string. I can not remember my Daddy’s popcorn string ever having more than about 7 pieces of popcorn strung, yet his bowl would always be empty.
After the popcorn was strung and the ornaments unpacked, Mama began putting lights on the tree. She always did this with the precision of an expert marksman. Each bulb placed precisely to give maximum glow. Then she always sat on the couch and placed new hooks on the many wonderful glittering memories taken out of the boxes. She passed them off to my sister and me to hang on the tree. It was many years before I could reach high enough on the tree to get close to the top, but Mama always filled in the parts we could not reach. Then my sister and I piled on our popcorn garland til the tree was covered on all tips with the fluffy white stuff.
Mama was a master at the placement of tinsel. When she was finished, the tree looked as though it had been kissed with the magic of snow fairies in ice and silver. Then, at the last, she would remove the final few glassy treasures from within their boxes.
She and Daddy, their first Christmas together, had made several purchases for their small little tree. That first year they had chosen a glass tree topper in golds, greens, pinks and blues. Glittery and shiny in places, matte and embellished with jewels in different places in the design. It looked like the tall ornate roof tops of Russia and Turkey. Large and round at the bottom and working it’s way upwards with various sizes of balls and ovals finishing off with a tall thin spire of fluted glass at the top....it was magnificent to my young eyes. They also selected garland made of glass teardrops, some in magenta and others in a rosy pink. They clicked and clacked together as she pulled them from their cloth wrappings. Mama would always pull them gently through her hands as she reveled in the smooth, cool feel of them. She always looked a little far away as she stretched them out to their full length. I think she would, for that moment, be back in
1969, holding hands with Daddy, both young and filled with hope for their future, with me resting warmly within Mamas body and surrounded by love. She would lovingly place the teardrop garland around the tree in deep scallops. Then the finishing touch, the steeple tree topper, graced our Christmas Tree.
We would all stand back, arm in arm, hand in hand, and admire our work. But as wonderful as the tree was to look upon, it paled in comparison to the real beauty in the room, my Mama. Her love for us shone brighter than anything on the tree, it glowed more than any flame in the room and her smile made me believe all would be right in the world forever.
I am a woman grown now with children of my own. Mama and Daddy’s ornaments are gone with time and my Daddy has passed on ahead of us. But the brightest beauty in that room all those years ago still shines brightly today. For my Mama glows with love for my sister and I and our families. And when I decorate our tree with my own children, I follow my Mama’s traditions. But as I take out ornaments and tell my children the stories behind them, I get my own far away look. For I go back myself, to a time when I was young and wore a house coat of plaid and flowers. When I hugged my Mama around the middle and felt her hold me close and knew that for the rest of my life, I would be safe and warm in my Mama’s love. I know, that even with all her glittering treasures within those boxes, my sister and I were and are her greatest treasures. I remember this and my own eyes grow shiny, with love, understanding and appreciation for the wonderful
woman who is my Mama. Merry Christmas, Mama. I remember.
T
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