December 5: Christmas-by-the-Sea

Harborside tree
full of yellow apples--
thought they were ornaments.

December 15: Nature's Ornaments

As I was driving into town to run some errands, I noticed a tree that seemed to be well decorated with big, puffy brown Christmas ornaments. Wow, I thought, someone was very ambitious! As I was passing the tree, however, I realized with pleasant surprise that it was an hydrangea bush still bedecked with its lovely, lacy blossoms, now dried and preserved for the winter.

So then as I made my way through the side streets of Camden, I began to notice other trees also decorated by nature: an old oak with most of its leaves still hanging from the gnarled branches like little brown hands; a small magnolia with swollen leaf buds, perhaps spurred by the recent warmer weather; an apple glowing with an abundance of frozen, golden orbs of fruit; bright purple clusters of crabapples; a sumac's fuzzy red fruits rising above its bare, twisting branches.


They can't let go, was the thought that ran through my head. I'm always looking for metaphors, and they often end up reflecting my inner state of mind. (Funny how that works.) But that's not really it. These ornaments of nature are each worth hanging onto for their own reasons. The sumac, apple, and crabapple fruits, for example, will attract and feed wandering flocks of robins, bluebirds, and waxwings. Dependent on such winter gifts to survive, these beautiful birds will fill the trees like living ornaments--like some kind of divine visitation--eat all they can, and move on. So it's not about letting go. It's about flaunting what you've got, in your own way. It's about celebration.

Apples, dried blossoms--
wild holiday ornaments
for a wild season.

December 7: Christmas Decorations

We don't have a Christmas tree yet, but tonight I unpacked the rest of our holiday decorations. Also today we received our first Christmas gift in the mail (thanks, Susan and Chris). So let the festivities begin!

I think I was inspired by the snowfall the other night. And today as I left work more pretty flakes were drifting down within the circles of light thrown by the streetlights. First thing when I got home I hauled the boxes of Christmas stuff in from the shed. Every year it's like, well, Christmas, opening the boxes and seeing once more my favorite holiday artifacts and tchotchkes. Like my nesting Santas, the first two pieces of which are lovely Limoges boxes with a third, teeny little porcelain Santa inside. Or my beeswax Santa candles. Or my fake tabletop tree with the bendy branches and the miniature glass ornaments I've collected for it over the years, under which my Christmas polar bear must always be posed. Silly, maybe. Childish. Perhaps trivial. But I love ritual and tradition, and rediscovering these holiday things each December brings me such pleasure. Much more pleasure than shopping and wrapping gifts.

Later this week, we'll get a tree. And then comes the next phase of my Christmas indulgences--bringing out all our ornaments and trimming the tree while we play carols. There's the red globe with my name painted on it from my first Christmas, a felt cat from my grandmother when I was about seven, a series of hand-painted wooden birds, a porcelain flying horse, and my favorite one: Santa riding a snowy owl. Each one has a story of who gave it to me and why, and each story gets revived each year.

Santas in a row,
candles in every window.
House awaits a tree.