Undeck the Halls

I have checked the calendar and there is no notation that tells me when the Christmas tree should come down.  I didn’t see one that lets me know when it should go up either.  This falls under one of the great mysteries of life.  Along with “why does putting the tree up, usually accompanied by great fanfare, ritual and the honor of placing special ornaments, take many loved ones to achieve the perfect bond and balance of Christmas’ past and present, but only one (usually “the mom”) to take it all down, with nary a drum roll?”

Not that I am complaining (besides, it wouldn’t do any good).  It really is easier for one set of experienced hands to untangle the lights, pull off the garland and candy canes, carefully unleash the precious pickle ornament from its branched captivity and gently put the decorations in their designated boxes.  You can work at your own pace, stop to reflect, smile, chuckle or shed a tear, on a memory that recalls the history of a special wooden Humpty Dumpty; holiday artifacts, made with love, from your child; a tiny red airplane that soars with the knowledge of a secret tete a tete; entrusted family heirlooms; a dangling, dancing, dictating Sponge Bob and a few ornaments that have seen their better day – but will never be disposed of - without inquiring minds wanting to know the details of your emotional and well-deserved roller coaster of recollections.  It is truly the one benefit that goes with the territory.

It amazes me how much history I have accumulated in the ornamentation and holiday “spread the cheer” department.  A little bit of this and a lot of that – must haves “addictionally” and additionally purchased each year in the frenzy of after-Christmas shopping.  Some folks have it (maybe it really should read some want it – or need it) and some don’t… my love muffin didn’t come with holiday baggage when I met him (trust me, it was well countered by excess luggage, gear and belongings in other areas); not even a strand of tinsel to his name.  My heart goes out to him, to not be able to piece together his Christmas pasts.  There are forty-two years (I have the last 15 years covered) of holiday cheer that will forever remain locked away in his memory without the proper provocation of a worn ornament, moth ridden stocking or Santa mug with half the paint chipped off.

As you try to remember how all this paraphernalia will fit back into the boxes and creatively try to find a place to store all the holiday goodies until they re-emerge next year, ready to propagate a few more memories, know how lucky you are.  Being the fortunate chosen one who is the holder of precious family artifacts, mementos and keepsakes – you are much more than just the person who has to put all the bits and pieces away – you are responsible for keeping the spirit alive.  And that is what it is all about.  When clothes are outgrown, toys are pushed aside and batteries have died, the real meaning of the season will be gently tucked away, ready to emerge, celebrated and hung back on the tree all over again.  Enjoy the fruits of your labors for the next eleven months and when it is not too early and not too late – just enough time to immerse in the warmth of it all – pull out the holiday boxes with the anticipation of the surprises that they hold inside.

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.                      

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-