Okay, sometimes things just don’t work out the way we’d envisioned them.
Monday, we went out and cut some hemlock boughs to create our Christmas “tree”. We doubled up on the task, cutting branches from a young tree on the side of the trail. When it snows, its burden drags it down to about chest level, making a snowy obstacle to pass.
We trimmed and bundled the bows, and hung them from a nail on the wall. We took a washcloth and wrapped it around the cut ends, then secured this with cellophane packing wrap, and stuck our angel on top. To water the branches, we just remove the angel and moisten the washcloth.
We lit the boughs and decorated them, carefully choosing our favorite and most precious ornaments.
That night we awoke to a gentle tinkling sound we couldn’t place. We got up and discovered our “tree” face down across the linen cabinet and dining table! The twine that had held it in place broke so cleanly it appeared cut.
Miraculously, of all our precious ornaments, only one broke. It was a blown glass creche that I’d had so long I can’t remember when I got it. It had fallen and broken years before, and ever since had a couple of jagged spikes that required extra-careful handling.
For more years than I can remember, I had the custom of hanging it low on the tree near the back, so that I could lay under the tree and gaze into the creche, enjoying the play of the lights in the glass. I had shared this “secret” with Aly, and it became our custom to crawl back together and share a few quiet moments each Christmas.
I’ll really miss that! I’ve spoken before of the beauty of transience; I have no choice but to let it go.
We picked up the glass and rehung the tree with sturdier line, then went to bed. The next morning we redecorated the tree. All seems well . . . so far.