A Glorious Excess

 

I don’t know what it is about the holiday season that seems to bring on a catastrophe with my teeth.  It seems like every year, around Thanksgiving or Christmas, some very painful and very expensive event takes place in my mouth.  This year it was another abscessed tooth, which of course flared up on the night before Thanksgiving, meaning it would be at least five days before I would be able to see my dentist.  Luckily I had some leftover pain pills and antibiotics and was able to get it calmed down enough to not go completely crazy. Two more weeks of antibiotics and I had a root canal right when I needed to be decorating for Christmas. 

For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to drag out every single box of Christmas decorations this year.  I’ve been accumulating decorations for over 50 years, apparently without ever discarding anything.  Add to that my mom’s stuff, which I have not had much success whittling down since moving into this house and the boxes have filled almost two large closets.  I used to put up two trees, and I actually have enough to do three or four trees if I had the energy to do that.  Did I mention that I still have most of my mom’s stuff?  And stuff from my grandmother and even my great grandmother? No one needs this much stuff.  It's a glorious excess.  But isn't that what Christmas is anyway - starting right out with that manger that held more love than any human being had ever imagined? 

My plan was to go through everything and weed out some things this year.  No one needs this many Christmas decorations.  I came home from work last week to find that my next-door helpers had taken me at my word and boxes and tubs were stacked all over the house.  They even took out all my Christmas village houses, which I didn’t even put out for the last two years.  And they cleared off an entire bookcase to put them in.  So I was committed, in spite of my tooth.  Eames had already arranged some things around the house that can stay right where they are.

Like most of my plans, things didn’t really work out exactly like I thought they would.  I set out a box to put discarded items and a trash can to hold stuff that was past redemption.  By the first afternoon, I had two things in the giveaway box and all that was in the trash was a string of lights that didn’t work and a few pieces of bedraggled artificial greenery.  I also had a heart full of memories.

There was the Christmas afghan that I had battled one of my co-workers for in our annual dirty Christmas exchange.  (Does anyone know why these crocheted blankets are called afghans?) There was a set of special ceramic Christmas houses that I had collected over a few years at a craft fair in Alabama, and a wooden sleigh that came from my childhood, with a Skipper doll driving the horse.  I think it was the only use I ever found for that particular doll – I wasn’t much of a doll girl when I was growing up on the farm.  But she's been driving that sleigh for about 20 years now.

There were handmade fabric Christmas trees that my mom made years ago and a little musical tree that I bought when I was newly married and tiny accessories that I have collected a few at a time.  I think back with amazement at all the things my mom and I made years ago.  I have a wonderful patchwork Christmas Tree skirt and a fabric wreath and several other matching pieces that we sewed.  I would no more think of sewing those things now than I would think I could fly to the moon.  We even made Raggedy Ann dolls to sell a couple of Christmases.  If someone told me I had to do that again, I would have to just leave town.

There were my favorite Santas, bought from a favorite store on the Centerville square and carefully packed away each year to preserve their velvet coats and fuzzy beards.  There was another set of ceramic Santas made and gifted from one of my good friends, one each Christmas for almost ten years. 

There was my collection of little Christmas dog figurines – I still remember where and when I got the first in the collection and I was so excited when I finally had a mantle in my bedroom to display them.

Every box I opened held memories of family and friends and trips and discoveries.  I had forgotten how much fun it is to build my Christmas town and farm.  I always think it would be nice to live there, where it’s always Christmas and the people look so happy.

I haven’t even tackled the tree yet.  In my world, there are rules about Christmas, and one is that the tree doesn’t go up until mid-December and stays up until mid-January.  Nothing goes up until after Thanksgiving and nothing comes down until at least Epiphany.   And as usual, I found things I had totally forgotten about and can’t find several things that I know are around somewhere.  I complained about that to Clay when he came over and he looked around in amazement.  “How can you tell?” he asked.   

I still have to relocate my desk and computer to make space for the tree.    I considered briefly putting the tree in a different spot, but it always sits in the little alcove between two windows, right beside the fireplace and I can’t picture it anywhere else.  Sometimes change is good, but when it comes to Christmas trees, tradition always wins.