Blogger: Janet Kobobel Grant
Location: Books & Such main office, Santa Rosa, Calif.
In our continuing blog posts about Books & Such staff’s Christmas memories, this week we’ll each recall an ornament that holds special memories for us.
For me, this idea immediately took me back to my childhood, during which our tree ornaments were leftovers from my parents’ early married years right after WWII. Their first year of marriage, so many American resources had been devoted to supply our war effort that Christmas ornaments were produced from unusual materials.
The two ornaments I remember most vividly from my childhood were a ball of interlaced, wide aluminum strips and blue, very thinly striped plastic balls. Neither ornament (we had several of each variety) was particularly pretty, but during the war effort many more significant sacrifices were made than what type of Christmas ornament was available.
Throughout my childhood, these less-than-gorgeous ornaments adorned our Christmas tree, and I remember feeling a certain sense of pride that my parents had been willing to sacrifice so much more than stylish Christmas trees for those of us who came after them.
A remembered ornament isn’t necessarily the prettiest one on the tree, but the most meaningful one.
I looked online to see if I could find pictures of these ornaments, but they seem to have disappeared from the face of the Earth. But, trust me, you wouldn’t want to volunteer to pluck one of them from a store to place on your tree.
Do you recall an ornament from your family’s Christmas tree that wasn’t especially pretty but recalls good memories for you?
Brad Huebert
Oh yes. The “disco ball.” Tucked away in the Christmas decorations was a lone ornament, one of a kind—a tacky, multi-faceted silver orb my brothers and I fought over every year. Only one of us was appointed to hang it on the tree.
Now that I’m married, I have a disco ball of my own (my angelic wife found one and bought it for me). My children are not allowed to hang it, since I’ve waited all my life to have the thing to myself.
Sarah Grimm
One of my most favorite ornaments was given to me by my grandma. It’s a fairy. I might call it a wood nymph. It was sticking out of my Christmas stocking the year she moved in with my parents, and I thought they put it there.
I was immediately ashamed when my sister and I pulled out our fairy ornaments and giggled and I said, “What’s this?”
It’s huge, almost the size of a small Barbie doll. It’s legs are wiry and it’s arms too.
It was my grandma, not my dad, who answered, and I immediately swallowed hard, not realizing it was a special gift from her.
“It’s a fairy princess. An ornament.”
The girl is pretty, I suppose, with long curly hair and a skirt made of pine needles and necklace of red berries. My sister’s has a flashy dress of flower petals.
“This one reminded me of you,” she said, “because it’s woodsy. And this one is flowery, like your sister.”
My husband insists it be hung on the back of the tree, but I think it’s beautiful, because my grandma saw a piece of me in the wood fairy. Me, the tree-climbing, knee-scraping, story-making girl who loved exploring the woods. She saw me in a fairy and called me a princess.
Every Christmas I hang the ornament with tears in my eyes because I can almost touch the love she felt in her heart when she picked it up and thought, “Sarah.”
Sarah the wood fairy. She was more right than she could imagine.
lori
I remember when I was either four or five, with my mother’s prodding and help, making a long chain out of construction paper to go on our Christmas tree. I thought is was ugly and my mother thought it was so wonderful.
Amanda Dykes
How about an episode from the poor-student college years? My roommate, also my lifelong best friend, was as broke as I was, but in a flurry of Christmas cheer we constructed a tree in our living room with what only the best trees are made of: thumbtacks and green yarn. We outlined it, strung popcorn together and handcrafted paper ornaments to adorn it. The lean moments are sometimes the most vivid, cherished memories. To quote George MacDonald, “Of how many pleasures does pocket money deprive the unfortunate possessor!”
Cheryl Malandrinos
What great stories everyone. I have to say, I wish I knew what happened to our Christmas ornaments. Now that my mother is gone, I wish I had these family treasures to hold onto.
We had this ugly, styrofoam snowman that hung on our tree each year. Why was it ugly? Beacuse it was gray. Who wants a gray snowman? It probably wasn’t more than 6 inches high, with a little stick broom and a fake carrot nose, but every year it was in the front of the tree in all its gray glory. I think I added him to one of my stories once.
Janet Ann Collins
Forty years ago today my husband and I were married. Some little white bells from our cake have turned yellow with age, but they still adorn the Christmas tree every year.
Melissa K. Norris
The first year we were married, I found a gold heart ornament and engraved our names and the date on it. I remember the feeling of being newlyweds when I hang it. For each of my children, I bought an ornament that held a picture of their first Christmas. I get a little teary eyed when I see those baby photos.
Janet Grant
‘Tis the season for all of us to wax sentimental, isn’t it? Thanks, Lori, for causing me to remember my own paper chain creation. I’d forgotten all about that.
Janet, you’ll want to be sure to tune in to Wendy’s blog tomorrow.
Tamara Fickas
When I was growing up there were two ornaments that I considered old fashioned and I wondered why we put them on the tree every year. Turns out those two ornaments were from my parent’s first Christmas as husband and wife in 1960.
Dad still has those ornaments and they hang on the tree each year. I love those ornaments for all the memories of the last 51 years.
When I read your post today I had to smile because I just reposted on my blog an article I wrote about those special ornaments.
JD Smith
This a a Christmas Short about my favorite ornament: The Angel with the Broken Wing
By JD Smith
Daddy drove trucks, but he lost his job in ’62. I liked when he was between jobs, ‘cause we fished a lot. This time things were different—only one week until Christmas. Daddy said, “We have to move before the rent comes due.” He handed me a cardboard box. “Put your things in here and then go help your sisters.”
I walked away. My hopes for a new red bicycle quickly vanished. I didn’t want to move. I liked my school and my best friend Jack. In the hallway, I heard Daddy talking to Momma. He said he found a cheaper place a couple of miles away and got a free month’s rent, too. He told momma we could go to the same school! I grinned and ran to tell my sisters.
We took everything we had and put them in Daddy’s worn out Studebaker. Once we were all in the car, Daddy strapped the mattresses to the top with some rope he borrowed from Mrs. McIntyre. I looked back at our old house. I was sad to leave, but Daddy said the new house had more room and I might even get a room of my own.
I couldn’t believe my eyes when we pulled to a stop in front of a huge house with big white columns and stained glass windows. It looked like a mansion to me. The sign out front read, Apartments for Rent. Momma was so proud. Daddy had rented the entire bottom floor. The upstairs had four bachelor apartments for rent.
I ran through the house trying to find the best bedroom. My sisters were in hot pursuit. The first room didn’t have a window. The second room was painted pink. I chose the room with a large window looking towards the street. I stood guard at the door. My sisters couldn’t get past me. Finally, a room of my own!
Our old house was furnished, but this one didn’t have any furniture. Every time we talked too loud, the walls talked back. I helped my sisters drag their mattresses to the pink room and they helped me put my bed in my room. Our clothes were in cardboard boxes. In the living room, we sat on pillows. I loved the house: the highest ceilings I had ever seen, shiny hardwood floors and, of course, my own room.
Christmas Eve found us all, except for Daddy, gathered around the space heater in the living room. In spite of the cold, he had been looking for work all week. When the door swung open, I expected to see Daddy, but a huge Christmas tree sprang through the doorway. Daddy’s smiling face peeked around the thick evergreen limbs. “HoHoHo!” He bellowed as he carried the tree to the front of the barren room setting it down with a grunt.
We rejoiced at the news of his new job and marveled at the ten-foot tree. Fresh spruce aroma filled the whole room. The tree was perfectly-shaped and begging to be decorated. No doubt, this was the grandest Christmas tree we had ever seen. Jumping up and down, we begged Momma, “Please Momma, can we decorate it now?” She insisted that we must. Santa was coming tonight. Momma found the box of tinsel she had so carefully saved from the year before. We had another box of breakable ornaments. I looked around for the special wooden box–the angel box. The angel was very fragile–a twelve-inch high slender glass ornament. The wings were shiny gold. The halo sparkled with glitter and the robe was snow-white. The heart of the angel was a cut-glass recess with a ruby red jewel in the middle that caught the light.
My job was to put that glass angel on the top after everything else was done. It was a tradition, our tradition. Daddy always let me ride on his shoulders, but Momma and Daddy were in the back bedroom. I hoped they were wrapping lots of presents. I ran to their door, but decided not to knock. I ran back to the living room. My sisters argued over the placement of ornaments as they always did. I just waited for my moment of glory– holding onto the angel box. I was very patient, but the tinsel took forever–one strand at a time. Neatly placed tinsel is the key to a beautiful tree,that’s what momma always said.
An idea crept into my mind. I thought I could stack some boxes on the wide windowsill and reach the top of that ten-foot tree. I found three cardboard boxes in the corner. My sisters warned me. “You are going to fall!” But I thought differently.
In spite of their objections, I climbed on the windowsill hanging onto the latch with one hand and the angel with the other. I stepped over onto the stack of boxes. I stood on my tiptoes and stretched with all my might, bending the top branch toward me.
I carefully placed the angel. When I let go she gently swung up toward the ceiling taking her rightful place. A ray from the setting sun glimmered across the sparkle center sending bright red reflections swaying along the walls. The angel almost touched the ceiling. Perfect, I thought. Christmas was finally here.
I was about to get down when my sisters informed me the angel was leaning to the left. Sometimes you know better and change your mind. Sometimes you think you can do anything. Leaning back out to straighten the angel, I was under control until I felt the boxes giving way. The whole thing seemed to happen in slow-motion. I remember grabbing the tree on my way down. I remember the horror on my sister’s faces. I remember the loud crash. My sister’s screams bounced off the walls. My parents came running. I lay amid evergreen needles, broken glass, tinsel, and that monstrous ten-foot tree. I didn’t respond to the yelling. I didn’t try to move. I just stared across the hardwood floor at the angel–the angel with the broken wing.
Momma grabbed me up, but I was okay. Daddy sat the tree back on its base, the floor crunching beneath his boots. They were so glad I wasn’t hurt, they didn’t even get mad at me. Daddy shook his head, then busted out laughing. Before long, we all were laughing. I helped Daddy clean up the mess. My sisters helped Momma make popcorn. They strung the popcorn and redecorated the tree. We sang Christmas songs as we warmed by the heater and admired our magnificent Christmas tree. I hated that I had broken the angel, but Daddy insisted we put her up anyway. Seeing just one wing on the angel embarrassed me, but the angel seemed to shine even brighter. That was a special Christmas for us.
Looking back now, it’s funny how the years fly by, Mom and Dad are gone, seems just like yesterday. I did get a new red bicycle that year, just like the one I bought my son this Christmas. He rode my shoulders for the first time this year, to place the angel–the angel with the broken wing. She continues to grace our tree each year, reminding us every holiday season of having little, and yet being happy. That’s one Christmas I will never forget.
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