The box of ornaments is hauled out of the storeroom. Each year I open it to find old friends and favorites. First come the ornaments that sit on top of the piano. They used to be placed on the mantel over the fireplace at Huntington, but now they reside quietly on top of Charlie's piano lit up by sunlight streaming through large windows. There is old Santa holding his hat full of kittens. He stoops towards a small ginger tabby who peeks into see them. On the other side of the Sabbath candle holders stands a salmon-colored angel. She is tall and graceful with wings stretching out from her back. The angel's burgundy twin dresses the top point of the tree each year.
She is up there right now, lights twinkling. Morning light creeping in over the snow. A couple of juncos and an odd cardinal are early risers at the feeder. I pull a shawl around my shoulders and stare out the window. Exactly one year ago today I stared outside this same window in horror and shock. Molly and Ada flanked both sides of me as we tried to digest, understand this new home. The stark, large trees so tall we cannot see their tops, and wintry sky light all around. We felt unprotected, strange, worried. The cats stayed close to me for three days as I sat in the new apartment waiting for T and our furniture to arrive. Strange how anniversaries go. They seep into the consciousness without us realizing, slowly, cautiously, and then jump out suddenly catching us off guard as a reminder pulling out the memories, nostalgia, and grief.
T brought us some wine and dolmades as we dressed the Fraser yesterday evening. Each year the same ritual. I prepare the ornaments and T places them just in all the right places. Doves and angels from UNICEF. Every year I purchase a different ornament for the tree. Just one of those traditions I created for myself because I have no childhood knowledge or memory of doing trees.
This year I ordered some dragon flies. There are some ornaments I bought in DC in November 2001: a comical king toad crown adorning his head, arms outstretched, astride a large glittering green and red ball, a delicate clown, and five plastic candies. I had gone to the nation's capital to meet Danny, my editor, for the first time and just felt so much like celebrating. Then there are a number of golden, white and red threaded balls that T acquired even before his first marriage. They set a soft, gentle tone to the tree. Ah, and here are two old Santas. In fact they look more like the idea of Saint Nicholas to me. One is white and the other African American. A few years ago I searched high and low for that brown skinned Santa fellow. That was quite a story. Too long for this post but suffice it to say the store keeper was anxious to know why I, a white woman, would be wanting such a Santa and made his curiosity known. Oh well. The Santas flank the little elder snow woman made of tin. I found her in a curiosity store a couple of years ago.
As we were trimming the tree, drinking wine, eating dolmades and listening to Israeli music I suddenly had the urge to check the date. And presto, there it was. The anniversary of our move. Of course I knew it was around about this time but not the exact day, moment of arrival. That was the interesting part. My heart felt a pull to know at the very minute the anniversary struck. There I was. One moment smiling and singing along in Hebrew as the ornaments adorned the twinkling tree. The next, tears dripping down my cheeks like a small waterfall of uncontrollable grief.
T and I sat together until the crying stopped. He said comforting things like, "I know how hard this was for you. You were so courageous, Tam. Thank you so much for doing this with me." Feeling better did not take long. I thought to myself, "Yes, it had been sad and frightening to leave my home of seventeen years. I remember the yowling cries of Molly and Ada as the car pulled out of the driveway and onto the highway. But I like living here now. I love being able to travel by train an hour or so North or South to wonderful cities like Washington and New York. I am enjoying this very moment. This tree-trimming, Israeli music, wine and dolmades moment. Hey! I'm having fun. Push the cosmic sadness away."
Daylight now. That tall oak tree outside the window pushing upwards from the snow covered ground does not feel cold, stark or shocking any longer. It feels solid, constant, friendly. Molly and Ada are happily curled up on different ends of the sofa, close by. Our Fraser Fir twinkles with ornaments, memories, angels, doves of peace, old Saint Nicholas, black and white, and cheery snow woman. I sip on coffee, munch at the stroopwafel and sigh. A faint smile on my lips. Happy Holidays, kid.
Hey, I got my Fraser yesterday too! One more "new city" thing conquered--where to find high quality fresh trees where they'll make a fresh cut and tie it to your car for you. My Fraser is still naked; I'll decorate it today. I also have ornament memories.
Posted by: J.R. | December 11, 2005 at 01:24 PM
What a great feeling to know we are "in this" together, J.R. I'm sure you could do a fantastically interesting post about your ornament memories. Let me know if you ever want to use my blog for such (or any other for that matter) a post.
You would make a fabulously interesting blogger. I have no doubt about it!
Merry Christmas, J.R. I miss you and love you.
Posted by: Tamar | December 11, 2005 at 02:38 PM
You set the scene so well that I feel as if I had been there, too. Cherished ornaments, a fresh tree, music - wonderful! And your description of the contrast between last Christmas and this one for you certainly needled out memories of my soul-beating Christmas three years ago. (Cue cold chills.) And look! We survived. Thrived, even. Another gift of the season!
Posted by: MaryB | December 11, 2005 at 09:54 PM
Of the hundreds of blogs, I have read in the last two months, yours has stood out as a favorite. The way you write, brings me right into your moment. I read your “The tree is home” post, to my husband this morning and found myself crying, when you cried. My husband and I have been married for thirty four years and have lived in nine homes, moving as he built his career in the hotel business. Growing up, I lived and was educated in three countries. Perhaps that is why, when on your list in you post “Random (Update)” you said “I am a citizen of the world, feel like an outsider, and always long to belong.” I felt a kindred emotion. As a new blogger, I am in the infant stage, with much to learn. I feel blessed that I came across your blog, as it has raised the bar for me.
Posted by: Mo'a | December 12, 2005 at 12:03 AM
Mo'a,
Thanks so much for stopping by. I am glad this post resonated with you. Welcome to the blogging world! Your site is looking good. I'll be visiting you!
MaryB,
Yes! Survived - even thrived! Hurrah!
Posted by: Tamar | December 12, 2005 at 07:52 AM
Very good I enjoy visiting your site
and never get bored,reading your posts.
Posted by: Floyd Vaughn | December 13, 2005 at 06:10 AM
Thanks, Floyd!
Posted by: Tamar | December 13, 2005 at 06:51 AM