December 09, 2007

The Christmas Tree


We hauled the Christmas tree home this weekend with the 4-ways flashing (since we weren't sure we strapped it to the roof just right), and we fastened it in its new stand before cutting the ties that bound it—an improvement over last year's lack of foresight that had us uncermoniously shoving the expanding tree through the front door, leaving prematurely dropped needles in our wake. Then, much to Sam's chagrin, we let the new arrival relax for the afternoon so its snowy boughs would open and dry before we got to the night-time trimming. We passed those long hours by making and decorating gingerbread boys and girls at Tracey's.

However different the tree from year to year, and whatever adventures we have selecting it and getting it home and set up in its corner, the tree-trimming traditions remain unchanged. Its elements are lifted or adapted from my much-loved childhood memories. Mom would put the lights on herself, while we were out of the room. Then, when it was dark outside, we'd be called to come decorate. We'd listen to our favourite kids' Christmas carols and sip egg nog (the first taste in a short season) and take turns lifting the treasured ornaments out of the box, sharing the special significance of each piece with one another, though we all knew the stories by heart. When we were finished, we'd all bask in the soft glow for a while and affirm that this was the most beautiful tree ever.

I love passing those traditions on to Sam. Granted, he may have taken the reverent edge off of the annual review of our special ornaments by noisly slurping his egg nog through his Santa straw, but he seemed to enjoy the tales of where each item had come from. Grandma Arnold made this ceramic gingerbread boy, and Sam made this sand-paper gingerbread boy. Mommy gave this snowman to Sam, and he gave this snowman to Mommy. This is the first ornament Sam ever picked out, and this is the ornament that Mommy has had on every Christmas tree since she was born. These ornaments are gifts from Tracey, those ones are from Jillie and Lynnie and Kimmie and Missy. And these are from our Sandy Hill neighbours who loved Sam's smile. It's a story of love and friendship, the ornament review. It tells a family's history.

After hanging them all carefully on the fragrant branches, we fill in the empty spots with Christmas balls and berries and trinkets—things we'll need fewer of as the years go by and the ornament collection grows. In the end, it is indeed the most beautiful tree ever. I imagine the far-off day when we say the same thing of Sam's family tree, which I hope will display some of his favourite childhood ornaments, and perhaps one of two of mine. Nothing says Christmas to me quite like that pink rocking horse. This time, Sam gently rubbed its surface before handing it to me to hang, asking "why does it feel like sugar?" I'd forgotten, over the years, that this sweet piece was originally from a larger "sugar cookie" set. That finish gives it a sparkle that I've always loved.
Today, Jeremy and I (mostly Jeremy:) hung the outdoor lights across the house and up and around the huge spruce out front. Sam waited for us indoors, choosing a warm lunch and some Christmas specials over a refreshing hour in the snow with his parents. While we may marvel at how big the tree out front is getting (we needed the ladder and a hockey stick to hang the lights this year!), today's experience was a far cry from our first Christmas in Hudson House—just two years ago—when it would have been inconceivable to let Sam stay inside alone. He's growing up. Fast.

Later, after dark, when Sam and I pulled on our coats and boots to step outside and view the festive spectacle for the first time, he sighed in appreciation, saying "This is even more beautiful than last year." In the long run, Sam won't remember being three or four; in fact, chances are he won't have many solid memories of being five or six either. But I hope, somehow, that his heart will hold a collective memory of "Christmas" that delves back to his youngest years and includes fleeting impressions of happy moments like these.

No comments: