Hello friends,
"What are you writing about this week?" Chris asked me. "It's about Christmas ornaments," I said. "I hate it. It feels sort of sentimental and...ick." He shrugged, untroubled by the twee of the times. "It's Christmastime!"
He’s right, ‘tis the season. So here we go, sentimental as all get out—but hopefully no ick. Put Duke Ellington's Nutcracker Suite on the record player. Hang up the mistletoe! And pour yourself a glass of 'nog. We're going all in.
When I was 22 and working at my first reporting job at a newspaper in South Carolina, my mother boxed up all of my Christmas ornaments and sent them to me from Oregon. She most likely deposited money in my checking account for a Christmas tree, too, because there was no way I could afford one back then. My salary was $19,000 a year before taxes, with one of those lousy 80/20 health insurance plans that made the doctor or dentist effectively unaffordable.
I had plenty of ornaments to fill a small tree that year. Both my sister and I got to pick out a new one each year and inevitably ended up with dozens more from elementary school craft projects and gifts from my dad's artist friends. The box of ornaments my mother sent me at age 22 made up a sort of hope chest for future Christmases, I suppose. She was sending me out into the world with traditions and objects to create a little cheer during the darkest months of the North American winter.
For a moment, I'll put myself in my mother's shoes, what it must have been like packing up that box for a daughter who ended up in, of all places, South Carolina. I can imagine her examining the ornaments as she wrapped them, tucking them carefully among the dividers, in a plastic tub I use even now. I can't know exactly what my mother was thinking when she boxed them up, but I suspect it's why people write so many pop songs about coming home for the holidays or about light shining in the darkness.
The boxes are slight, yet heavy with memories. Their contents remind me of being a child hopped up on candy canes and anticipation for Santa. Of being a young adult making her way in the world on an empty checking account. Of the ex in Florida who I forget until I retrieve the ornaments from those years. Of the holidays with people who are now gone from our lives. Of the long Decembers in Washington, D.C. when Chris and I wanted to be parents and wouldn't be, but we decorated anyway because to cultivate joy when the world is dark is to build hope and to believe in your future.
As delightful as it is having a tree in the corner with twinkly lights and covered with sparkly objects, I can do it for a month only, no more. I can’t linger in this emotional state for long. ("Wistful," Chris suggests.) Yes, wistful it is.
Here are the stories behind a few favorite ornaments:
THE FIRST ORNAMENT This stained glass bluebird is among the prettiest, most precious ornaments in my collection. My father says it likely came from an artist who sold work at the gallery my mother once owned in St. Paul, Minnesota. It was their first Christmas with a new baby. How happy they must have been, how hopeful!
ALWAYS MAKES ME SMILE A red roller skate, picked out at age 10 from the Christmas Cottage in Lincoln City, Oregon. Amazingly enough, this store is still in business. It's worth a visit if you're on the Oregon Coast and are super into Christmas decor.
NOVELTY I couldn't resist this pumpjack, purchased at a drug store in North Dakota in 2013 when I first began work on Windfall. Not all windfalls are buried beneath the earth.
SILVER BELLS My mother collected silver bells each year, and began sending me one each year, too, beginning with the year she boxed up all those ornaments for me. Christmas imprinted on my mother early. She grew up on a street in Helena, Montana, where everyone decorated for the holidays—it was one of those neighborhoods people travel to from all over the city. You probably have one in your town. (We have Peacock Lane in Portland.) This bell was the last one my mother sent, in 2009.
THIS YEAR'S ORNAMENT I don't collect ornaments much anymore—I own so many that I can’t fit them all on a tree. But this year I bought a soft felt bighorn sheep at an arboretum gift shop in Ohio. No, there are no bighorn sheep in Ohio. But I had just seen some bighorns in Colorado, and I thought about them when I was in Joshua Tree as well. So when I saw this ornament at a gift shop last month, it seemed a fitting tribute to my travels this year. Also, it was made by refugees, making it an ideal ornament for a time when so many people are displaced because of global conflict.
May your home be a source of light, warmth and hope in the darkness this year.
Yours,
Erika
P.S. A quick request this week: I know many of you have already done this, and I’m so grateful. But if you haven’t yet, would you mind going to Amazon or Goodreads to post a review of Windfall?
Amazon and Goodreads reviews are how many people decide whether to buy a book—or even whether to check it out from the library. Fresh reviews will help elevate Windfall in Amazon rankings, making it easier for other readers to discover the book. That’s critical at this point in Windfall’s shelf life and, of course, at the height of the holiday gift-giving season. It only takes three or four sentences. I appreciate your support!
THE NEWS
All the links…
The best and worst new Christmas movies streaming in 2023.
The case for being free and easy with your invitations. No, you can’t invite everyone to everything. But if you can include more people, research suggests you should, and that it could benefit all involved.
“When your own book gets caught up in the censorship wars.” Robert Samuels (see the most recent Windfall Dispatch) wrote in the New Yorker about what it was like to see his work banned in Tennessee.
A poetry-sized hole in the news. I apologize, the link in the most recent edition was faulty.
Single, ready to mingle…and stuck on a roof. Bighorns are having a moment.
I love this. I could write a similar post because every ornament on my tree tells a story or relates to something special from that year. I started collecting ornaments early in adulthood and have a tradition of giving my husband, two kids, and myself an ornament every Christmas Eve. When we travel, I keep an eye out for an ornament to buy that will remind me of that place. It’s the most special thing in our family related to Christmas, making our tree a “memory tree” with no “filler” ornaments, only special ones. I love the ones you spotlighted!
I enjoyed your unwrapping of memories. I have a Norfolk pine plant that is a nice size that I can decorate it with small, light weight ornaments and colorful ribbon so I did that this year. I do hang on a light we have some old (from 1950's) and rather large Christmas bulbs that we put on our tree as kids. They are faded but unique and I enjoy them every year I hang them. Hope your holidays are filled with enjoyable family time and a good book or two!