I look at my tree, with its white lights, and ornaments holding years of memeories, and I remember other trees. The ones of my youth, that are so different for anything I can create.
Colored lights with star or flower reflectors twinkled and flashed and I loved nothing more than to sleep under the tree, looking up at the bottle brush limbs, mesmerised by the lights sparkling off of toy ornaments. An ornament for each year of life, cherished and lovingly displayed each year with companions for my brothers and sister.
As a child I always thought it unfair that I had the least ornaments to hang. My siblings all had far more being eight, ten and thirteen years older than me. I always thought some of the really neat ornaments were given before I was born, but Mom was great at finding ornaments that coordinated in fours. Each seemed to express our personalities to perfection.
When we married the ornaments were given to us for our first tree, but, somehow, it never matches the magic of my childhood, eventhough I continued the tradition with my own four children. And Mom's tree will never be the same. She's upgraded to a pre-lit, with beautiful santas in every imaginable pose, but it's missing the love and excitement that only children can bring to a tree. The ornaments seem too perfectly spread, and the steady burning lights are without mystery.
My most fervent wish is that my kids will one day look back with the same melancholy. The sadness is a sign of times filled with joy that hopefully they will try to create for their own families one day.
To all of you, I wish you many memeories, both melancholy and joyful as you go through this holiday season. May you try to recapture the magic you found as a child.