A Ritual
“Here, Celia, you usually like to hang this one, right?” said Claire last night, handing her sister a bright pink high heel slipper ornament with glitter and feathers.
“I remember when I got this ornament,” Celia said. “It was one of those parties where you exchange gifts and people can take them from you and I wanted this one so bad.” And she got it.
Meanwhile, Suzanne found her cello ornament and attached it to a heavy branch while Claire hunted for her “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament.
Decorating the tree is a holiday ritual with little courtesies and observances I didn’t even realize we had until we did them all over again last night. Each one is precious.
At points last evening I found myself floating at the edge of the hubub, as Tom, the girls and their friends laughed and talked and decked out our full, fragrant fir tree (which, we all agree, is one of the most beautiful trees ever). I wanted to be enough on the edge of things to be aware that I was part of them. But I also wanted to be in the moment because such moments are rare. So I busied myself stuffing tissue back into the ornament boxes and carrying them downstairs. Even from our storage room I could hear the laughter — it was as clear and silvery as a Christmas bell.
Photo: wallpaperhd.org
One thought on “A Ritual”
This post triggered deep memories of many past Christmases. We fell into easy roles: the ornament unwrappers, the high hangers, the observers, the sentimentalists, the stewards, the low hangers, the tinsel placers (NO, not too much!), the kibitsers, the dinner preparers, the still-wrapping presenters, the music makers, the fire place tenderes, the drink-fixers, the songsters, the dog feeders, the door bell answerers, the candle lighters, the laghers, the card-players—everybody busy while Christmas formed itself up for the next morning.