I had planned on tackling Christmas decorations this weekend, trying to get as much done as possible; and must say, overall I am pleased with the result. The house looks quite festive, and is gradually becoming the Christmas looking place that we want it to be. My determination to get as much done as possible started flagging about 6 o’clock Sunday evening. I was becoming overwhelmed with memories, like a rich dessert it was something that a small taste of was plenty.
A white angel is hung on a branch that came from my great grandmother. Little white clay snowmen, made by a cousin, are hung on another set of branches. A cloisonné bell rings a beautiful little tune and sits next to a porcelain nativity and a crocheted angel. So many ornaments as they were pulled from a container as my hand would touch it, the memory would touch me. A family gathering, a gift, someone who is no longer here, music, meals, gifts, trips; memories are rich with sound, color and texture.
As I hang the ornaments, I find myself thinking about those who are no longer here to celebrate with. I wonder what their Christmas memories were. Were there favorite foods, a special song, or a tradition? I wonder about Mary, what her memories were from that first Christmas, the birthday of her son – of God’s son. Her memories would have been different, those of a mother.