Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Box of memories.

I write this post surrounded by Christmas decorations to be stored away until next season. As I go through the process of organizing and putting the ornaments, lights, and stockings away, I relive Christmas' past:

-The ornaments given to me by friends from a tree-decorating party I held in my bachelor days before Sarah. I remember who gave me each ornament and the "story" each friend told me about buying the ornament - what the ornament means, etc.

-The many ornaments I have received from my parents over the years and where I was in my life at the time.

-The advent wreath I asked my mom to get for us a couple of years ago, still in the box (shhhh - don't tell my mom).

-How about the Mr. & Mrs. Claus decorations I made as a boy in Cub Scouts! We used to have our den meetings at our den leader's house down the street. This was MANY years ago - I can't believe I still have the decorations, which are made of cardboard/paper plates and felt!

-The 2005 Parents To Be ornament we received as a gift the Christmas before our angel Abigail was due. That ornament has yet to come out of it's box.

Many memories in these boxes, all heartfelt memories. Some of the memories bring a heavy heart, some a smile. It sometimes astonishes me how innate objects can stir so much emotion.

2 comments:

His Mom said...

I am sure we have the same exact "Parents to be ornament" we got it Christmas of 2005 from my parents, in anticipating of Curtis' arrival.

Ours was hung on our tree that year and in the Christmases since, it goes on his special memory tree. But it hurts. A lot.

We have decorations like that too. My parents have this ugly marshmallow ornament I made in girl scouts. I love the fact they still hang it on their tree!

I love that you held a tree decorating party. Very cool to have those ornaments.

Rich said...

LOL on the ugly ornaments! We have so many ornaments I am wondering if we will need two trees next year...

Sarah got a stocking for Abbey also - we put it with her at the cemetery. Hurts, it does.