I hold in high regard those delightful folks whose imaginations and stamina spur them on to the kinds of holiday home decorations that get them in the local news. I’m not one of them.
What I am, though, is sentimental…at least during the weeks leading up to Christmas. I don’t decorate to the extent that I did when I was younger (no more pine scented candles and hand embroidered hand towels in the loo), but oh, the memories that scramble out of those ornament boxes!
Some of the gems were never intended as ornaments. They’re small treasures that remind me of another life, in this case, the life of a young mother with hopes for the new addition to our family.
Our daughter’s first Christmas was as a three-month-old. A friend had gifted her with a holiday inspired onesie with matching socks. Even as an infant, our daughter hated any and all foot coverings. (Not a good trait for a Minnesota child.) But my mother was convinced any infant under 12 months old was sure to contract (insert dire plague here) if her feet were bare, and one doesn’t mess with the beliefs of a new grandma.
Thus began years of trying to learn where in the neighborhood The Daughter had left her shoes.
That one lonely little holiday sock has hung on our Christmas tree for 43 years. I’ve no idea where its mate is.