As I write this post, I’m sitting in the living room, basking in the glow of the holiday tree that is dressed in its strings of twinkle lights and golden garland. That cat, of course, considers it to be his own personal giant toy. I hope I don’t have a reason to regret not bolting it to the ceiling this year.
The holidays have changed a lot since I was a kid, when the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas used to last what felt like an eternity and the tree (at least for some years) was oddly metallic and sported lots and lots of tinsel. Now the time seems to be speeding along at an alarming rate and the tree is real and giving off a faint pine scent.
I’ve run out of time this evening, so putting on the ornaments will have to wait until I get home from work tomorrow. When I pull out the ornaments, I’ll be pulling out memories along with them. There will be the glass ballerina that I got from my dance teacher the year I went en point in ballet class. There will be the brightly colored fish made out of ribbons that I got in the Honolulu airport while on a business trip just before my son was born. There will be ornaments picked up on trips, received as gifts, made in school, and any number that never seem to make it to the tree, but all of them will have some kind of story associated with them.
In some ways, decorating and storytelling have some things in common, which is the actual point of today’s post. Continue reading