I cannot believe it has taken me so long to mention the monster Christmas tree that David hauled home, over his shoulder, all the way from the grocery store parking lot.
Impressed? Yes, us too.
I love when it’s finally time to open up the Christmas boxes and pull out the ornaments that have been put away for so long you almost forgot them. And how it’s a little like a time capsule when you start remembering, “Oh, yeah, this one. From them. That time. When we were there.”
It’s more noticeable, with such a big tree, how few we have. David’s ornaments from growing up. The cheap ones I found at Target the first year we ever had a Christmas tree – when we were living in the apartment above Pacific Avenue.
A couple from when we got married. A couple from last Christmas, Alice’s first.
They seemed like a lot, all hanging on the very small trees we used to buy.
This year’s looks a little bare. But that’s fine. It’s still early, and I believe absolutely in an accumulative approach.
I love this idea for time capsule ornaments. It appeals to the part of me that still keeps lecture notes from a European literature course I took 10 years ago. But, as sentimental habits go, time capsule ornaments are more defensible.
I made up a version for Alice, one each year. With a pocket stiched to the back for tiny reminders of how it was.
2011 says, “Alice, you are almost 2. Your favorite animal is a ‘baby Dumbo.’ When you say ‘snowman,’ it sounds like ‘townman.’ You beg me to sing ‘Jingle Bells,’ and when I sing ‘Jingle Bells,’ you do a wild, hair-shaking dance.”
She didn’t hang the ornaments so much as stash them. But she did it with such pride and pleasure that it was hard to do anything but watch.