For me, the Christmas season is about memories, not religion. We have a Christmas tree because the lights and decorations and the faint scent of pine are beautiful and peaceful. I’ve often thought of growing a Christmas tree in our back yard and keeping it decorated year around. Fat chance of that in south Florida. We have the tree up for about three weeks, longer if the needles are still green.
Every year, I eagerly climb the ladder to the attic for the boxes of Christmas decorations. And in these boxes are some real treasure, ornaments that have been in our family for decades, ornaments with memories attached to them.
This little Santa Claus, in fact, holds some of my earliest memories. The Christmas before my sister was born, we were living in Maracaibo, in what was then known as an “oil camp,” where employees of Exxon were housed. Mr. Clause, I recall, hung from a low branch and my grandmother – my mother’s mother – moved him to a higher branch. She was visiting from Oklahoma because she was going to help out once my sister was born in January. She was Russian born, in Odessa, I think, and for some reason thought that Mr. Clause belonged higher up on the tree, maybe so our dog couldn’t eat him. Through this ornament, I recall how pregnant and beautiful my mother was, and how sure I felt that the baby was a girl, my sister.
Somewhere on our tree is an ornament bought around the time my dad decided the political situation in Venezuela was deteriorating so fast that it was time to leave. Next to that ornament is a violin – or a fiddle ?- that I inherited from my first editor, Chris Cox, after he died from AIDS.
It turned out that Chris, like me, collected unusual ornaments in his travels. Shortly after his death in the early 1990s, a package arrived filled with his Christmas ornaments. I’m not sure who sent them – his sister, his fellow editor, Cheryl Woodruff, or his angel of mercy and close friend, Susan Sarandon, who paid for Chris’s private nursing care in his final days.
One ornament is a picture of Jessie, the Golden Retriever who was with us for eleven years, and another is of Megan, when she was three or four. There are a number of frog ornaments given to us by friends or family who know how much we like frogs or that I bought because they were so irresistible.
Here and there are impersonal ornaments, fillers that aren’t attached to any emotion or memory. Their home is at the back of the tree, so the wall won’t be lonely.
Every year when I open that container with the ornaments and the lights, icicles from the previous year still threaded through the wires, a peaceful nostalgia claims me. I touch the special ornaments, the ones connected to memories of people, and am grateful those people have graced my life. These ornaments have changed my feelings about that word. Ornaments aren’t just the superficiality of who we are. Sometimes, they are the very core of who we are.
Happy holidays to all! May 2012 bring you health, happiness, prosperity- and many ornaments that hold important memories.

















