I found this picture on the internet, looks like someone else agrees.... Many moons ago, shortly after separating from my first husband I found myself on my own to put up the Christmas tree. Usually I was the assistant tree holder for the job, wearing gloves to keep the sap from my hands, while the Ex did the heavy work to position the stump and tighten down the bolts on the stand. Left on my own with only two hands, it was a struggle. Unfortunately, if something had to go wrong, why did it have to wait until after the tree was fully decorated, like when a bird waits to poop on the newly washed car.
Back then my ornaments were antique glass balls that were as fragile as eggshells. My mother gave them to me making them precious and irreplaceable. I loved them. They twinkled like stars from the glow of the lights. I remember standing in front of this beautifully adorned tree, it was late in the evening and my work over, I took a few moments to appreciate the effort. I was thinking it didn't look too shabby for a first attempt on my own. Times were tough for us but my little boy would never know, I would make this Christmas one to remember.
That’s when a loud snap pierced the night. The sound came from the fatigued metal of the tree stand, worn thin from years of use, scratched and dented with rust eating away at its integrity. Bruce Cockburn asks, if a tree falls in the forest does anybody hear, well all I know is that when one falls in the living room it certainly makes a clamor, especially when it takes out a lamp off the table on the way down and each delicate glass ball, and several large Christmas lights shatter on impact with the floor. The light sets were the old kind, when one went out they all did so the room, moments before glorious with coloured sparkling diamonds was now engulfed in blackness, which perfectly matched my mood.
It was over in a matter of seconds but I stood minutes in disbelief, and then there were tears. I crunched broken glass on the way to the wall switch to turn on the ceiling light. What a mangled mess. The ornaments my mother had given me, broken, thousands of fragments glittering and littering the floor, family heirlooms smashed like broken dreams.
Like thin ice, those old glass ornaments were almost too fragile to handle let alone sustain a blow. As children we would accidentally poke our clumsy fingers through them just taking them out of the boxes. For some reason, I hadn’t put on the glass tree top that mom has also given to me, traded in for her new electric star. This iridescent topper was so fragile, so delicate I worried breaking it getting it on the thick tree top, so it was still in the box and safe. To this day I don't put it on my tree, no matter how rugged the stand. It’s a precious family heirloom to be coveted, not risked on a frivolous occasion like Christmas. I think if I broke it I would cry until I convulsed, like the cranberry glass incident I wrote about last year. So few items remain from my past, memories of my mother and how she loved Christmas I can’t risk it but sadly, it's like locking a diamond ring away in a safety deposit box because you are too afraid to wear it or lose it, where is the joy in that?
The water from the stand's basin had soaked the carpet, further damping my mood. Was this an omen? Was I being punished for trying to make it on my own, for trying to provide a safe and happy environment for us? Self-pity moved in, conditioned to beat myself up after years of abuse it seemed I was being punished for daring to build a better life. Maybe I was too stupid to deserve a good life, if I couldn’t even put up a tree! I was black and hard on myself, but felt a bit better when I realized the stand had given up the ghost causing the crash, not something I’d done. One of the legs had snapped after decades of serving Christmas. That revelation made me feel a bit better but still deflated; I turned out the lights and went to bed, to deal with the mess in the light of day.
In no financial position to buy a new stand with Christmas around the corner and my social assistance cheques barely covering food and a roof over our head, I jury rigged a stand from lumber bits, nails and an old mixing bowl for watering. In future years I bought a new stand but was never totally confident in its ability so I always tethered the tree to the wall. And as for the ornaments, I shied away from breakable ones and went for handmade and anything that would survive a fall, items not very exciting or sparkly but there was merit in rugged and dull.
This memory had been buried for some time, but when Shane phoned last evening to say his tree stand developed a hole and the water leaked out over his living room my mind traveled back in time, zeroing in on the tree disaster that first year on our own. He called to see if he could borrow our stand until he replaced his. After a trip to the attic I told him to keep the stand. I’d spent a lot of money buying one that exuded confidence, it would hold up whatever size tree went in it and then some. Our house with its low ceilings and little space for a grand tree, we usually buy a shorter, slim one and although the stand I bought was overkill, I could sleep at night knowing the tree will be upright in the morning. I would imagine Shane, a bit like his mom, will appreciate not having to worry about their tree so I gave him peace of mind. I’ll buy another one. That’s what moms do.
Back then my ornaments were antique glass balls that were as fragile as eggshells. My mother gave them to me making them precious and irreplaceable. I loved them. They twinkled like stars from the glow of the lights. I remember standing in front of this beautifully adorned tree, it was late in the evening and my work over, I took a few moments to appreciate the effort. I was thinking it didn't look too shabby for a first attempt on my own. Times were tough for us but my little boy would never know, I would make this Christmas one to remember.
That’s when a loud snap pierced the night. The sound came from the fatigued metal of the tree stand, worn thin from years of use, scratched and dented with rust eating away at its integrity. Bruce Cockburn asks, if a tree falls in the forest does anybody hear, well all I know is that when one falls in the living room it certainly makes a clamor, especially when it takes out a lamp off the table on the way down and each delicate glass ball, and several large Christmas lights shatter on impact with the floor. The light sets were the old kind, when one went out they all did so the room, moments before glorious with coloured sparkling diamonds was now engulfed in blackness, which perfectly matched my mood.
It was over in a matter of seconds but I stood minutes in disbelief, and then there were tears. I crunched broken glass on the way to the wall switch to turn on the ceiling light. What a mangled mess. The ornaments my mother had given me, broken, thousands of fragments glittering and littering the floor, family heirlooms smashed like broken dreams.
Like thin ice, those old glass ornaments were almost too fragile to handle let alone sustain a blow. As children we would accidentally poke our clumsy fingers through them just taking them out of the boxes. For some reason, I hadn’t put on the glass tree top that mom has also given to me, traded in for her new electric star. This iridescent topper was so fragile, so delicate I worried breaking it getting it on the thick tree top, so it was still in the box and safe. To this day I don't put it on my tree, no matter how rugged the stand. It’s a precious family heirloom to be coveted, not risked on a frivolous occasion like Christmas. I think if I broke it I would cry until I convulsed, like the cranberry glass incident I wrote about last year. So few items remain from my past, memories of my mother and how she loved Christmas I can’t risk it but sadly, it's like locking a diamond ring away in a safety deposit box because you are too afraid to wear it or lose it, where is the joy in that?
The water from the stand's basin had soaked the carpet, further damping my mood. Was this an omen? Was I being punished for trying to make it on my own, for trying to provide a safe and happy environment for us? Self-pity moved in, conditioned to beat myself up after years of abuse it seemed I was being punished for daring to build a better life. Maybe I was too stupid to deserve a good life, if I couldn’t even put up a tree! I was black and hard on myself, but felt a bit better when I realized the stand had given up the ghost causing the crash, not something I’d done. One of the legs had snapped after decades of serving Christmas. That revelation made me feel a bit better but still deflated; I turned out the lights and went to bed, to deal with the mess in the light of day.
In no financial position to buy a new stand with Christmas around the corner and my social assistance cheques barely covering food and a roof over our head, I jury rigged a stand from lumber bits, nails and an old mixing bowl for watering. In future years I bought a new stand but was never totally confident in its ability so I always tethered the tree to the wall. And as for the ornaments, I shied away from breakable ones and went for handmade and anything that would survive a fall, items not very exciting or sparkly but there was merit in rugged and dull.
This memory had been buried for some time, but when Shane phoned last evening to say his tree stand developed a hole and the water leaked out over his living room my mind traveled back in time, zeroing in on the tree disaster that first year on our own. He called to see if he could borrow our stand until he replaced his. After a trip to the attic I told him to keep the stand. I’d spent a lot of money buying one that exuded confidence, it would hold up whatever size tree went in it and then some. Our house with its low ceilings and little space for a grand tree, we usually buy a shorter, slim one and although the stand I bought was overkill, I could sleep at night knowing the tree will be upright in the morning. I would imagine Shane, a bit like his mom, will appreciate not having to worry about their tree so I gave him peace of mind. I’ll buy another one. That’s what moms do.
I found this picture of an antique tree topper on the internet. The shape is right but ours was more iridescent with pinks and greens and it had snow on it. This one is rather plain and I would prefer a picture of the actual piece but I worried about digging it out of the attic and breaking it....falling down the ladder and landing on it with my rump. I'll wait until hubby is home to help with this delicate mission.
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