Our tree is by the road awaiting the trash truck. We said goodbye as two of my kids dragged it out the door, leaving a trail of crisped needles in its path. We definitely got our twenty eight bucks' worth, having hoisted it into a stand on November 30th. Decorating it with music playing in the background and popcorn in a bowl was festive, and
the girls especially squealed over favorite ornaments. There were angels made of nine different mediums (paper, wool, fabric, metal, wood, clay, lace, beeswax and whatever Willow Trees are made of) and stars of even more.
Yesterday the family joined efforts to dedecorate which is less wrapped in anticipation than in reclaiming the space. I enjoyed that the girls sat down to read the string of stories I have included in Christmas cards for the past twenty years. Half
of them were sent before they could walk and their laughter was the sweetest sound I heard all day.
There was no dispute about saving the angels and tossing the tree. It went without saying. Next December we will retrieve the ornament tins from hibernation and go buy another Scotch pine. I like the do si do of saving what is still beautiful and letting go of what is dead.
I had a discussion with one of my older kids about how the
holidays played out. There were bumps to be sure, and also generosity trimmed in kindness. We unwrapped the disappointment from the celebration, which had been as tangled as a string of lights between my ears.
"Just let go of the misunderstandings. Keep the good memories."
Yes. I can do that.
My own father's words still whisper in my ears. When I visited him months before he died I asked how he felt when he
looked back on forty years of marriage with a woman who wrestled with mental health.
"I only remember the good things."
