Our Christmas tree stands in the living room. Her name is Banana, as a nod to her preferred posture. But from the right angle, she looks like a backdrop for hundreds of ornaments should.
Her branches are empty. Almost expectant. Even after a night of settling into her new home they seem huddled. Like the crossed arms of a teenager at a party, considering slipping out the back door. I can't blame her. Our walls are nothing like her forest was. The sounds are different. The incessant clock, the growl of the refrigerator, the play lists as the girls wander through the kitchen are unfamiliar. Benjamin singing carols, as he was after supper. She probably misses the night sounds
of owls. Foxes on a hunt. Wind.
Schedules permitting, today the twins and I will open the tins full of angels, and ribboned balls, and tiny quilts collected over thirty nine holidays. They are tangible proof of past celebrations in a string of addresses with an expanding, then shrinking number of people.
One of the games we play is to send each other hunting for a specific ornament.
"Find the snowman with a red scarf."
A variation is to locate a collection.
"Look for stars made of eight different materials." Glass, beeswax, wood, fabric, clay, lace, metal, straw.
Banana is on a small table. The idea first came up to keep breakables out of the reach of curious fingers, and also to allow for more packages underneath. There are no more small children to coax away from defrocking, though there is a sweet baby who still stays where you plop her. Next year it will be different. The amount of bright bagged gifts is more modest too, as our thirst for consumption has waned.
The floor around Banana's feet will be less crowded. Even when the travelers arrive on a red eye on Christmas eve and unload their thoughtful gifts, the room will not be overpowered with opulence. This is the result of conversations, shifts in income, and small apartments.
But the reduction in surprises that empty your pockets does nothing to lessen the affection we will have in being together. Even if some of us have poor posture.
