O Tannenbaum

It's the holiday season. In our house, that means Christmas.

When we bought our tree last week, it was an 85 degree heat wave.  My Man and I waited until mid-December when his teen-aged son was free to go with us. We all picked a tree in about ten minutes because it was too hot in the sunlight to stand about too long.

My Man and I are not married. We probably never will be.  We both had bruising divorces.  But his was worse.

When we got our tree home, we started to tear the house apart looking for our Christmas decorations.  We have dated for 5 years, lived together nearly two. Two years ago, we were both in town together for christmas and we remember having a tree.  But, it turns out those decorations were boxed back up and returned to his now-very-estranged ex-wife's garage, never to return.

Our investigation of all the nooks and crannies of our house revealed much to be given away but none of my lifetime of Christmas ornaments.  I even called a newly-married friend to come pick up the futon, easy chair, two TV's and hibachi from my bachelorette home that I abandoned finally last November.  Giving up on the search of our house, I helped my young friend transport his newly-acquired furniture for his love nest he was building with his newly-acquired wife.  As I was driving to their house, thinking about young love and how far I feel from that anymore (despite the fact that I'm only 41 and still trying to get pregnant) I realized that when my ex-husband and I split, most of our most precious belongings had been stored at his house.

At the end of my marriage, we sold our condo at the moment the Southern California real estate market was at its most fevered - January of '06 .  Two months on either side would have netted us at least $50,000 less.  The poor woman who bought it from us was saddled with an upside-down house within 6 months.  I think she was foreclosed upon within a year.  That windfall aside, neither of us could buy a house. So, he ended up in a two-bedroom apartment in the genteel but older/ shabby section of Glendale.  I ended up in a petite studio in the Hollywood Hills with a 240 degree view of Hollywood, downtown and, on a clear day, all the way to Long Beach.  I had about 250' ft of space indoors with a verandah that expanded my floor space to 500' sq.  My living room was outdoors, basically. But, that meant that I had no storage space; hence, leaving all our most valued and big possessions in the care of My Ex.

My Ex-Husband is a remarkable man and 24 years my senior. He is one of my best friends in the world and, while he didn't want to father children of mine, he has promised to be the "grandfather" I give to my children since my father died in '01.  I talk to him on the phone or in person almost everyday.  I called him from the road with a truck full of the furniture from my formerly single life and said, "Is it possible that you have the Christmas ornaments at your house?"  He went and looked in the garage and told me to come over and get the boxes.

Covered with 5 years of grime, the boxes had been untouched since he moved in.  We considered "splitting them up" but opted for me to take them home and examine them there. We never have the stomach for the "hard stuff," like being mad or taking sides.  We value the friendship too much.

I brought the boxes home and hauled them upstairs.  As we opened them, I discovered lights I had bought 6 or 7 years ago that had never been taken out of the box.  Green, purple, white lights.  It shocked My Man and his son that the lights were not part of a greater "design." While I don't know my man's ex-wife at all (in five years, I have only met her three times and exchanged less than 75 words), I have a feeling she was more "crafty" and "designy" than I am.

The shabby ornament boxes came out.  Two were so old that my mothers careful Kindergarten-teacher handwriting was on the outside of the box from when she had mailed it to me years ago.  After we lit the tree,  the teen-aged son puts the "topper" on the tree - shattering the center of the antique glass.  We left it up. The top of the tree is tilted and it looks like a wilted boner, we all decided. But it is still up.

In my family, the tradition was that each child got an ornament every Christmas - always with the child's name on it. Some years, even the cats and dog got an ornament.  A lot of ornaments can accrue over a 41-year lifetime.

As we each worked on a different box of decorations, various eras of my life began to reveal themselves.  A bronze angel playing a violin with my name engraved was hung by My Man - from when I was 7 and starting suzuki violin.  A handmade counted-cross-stitch sampler with my name and the figure of a blonde, little girl is hung by his son - an early craft effort by my Big Sister from 1980 when she was in college. I was in 5th grade and thought she was the Sun, the Moon and the Stars.  I, myself, carefully hung the dried milkweed pod with dried wildflowers glued inside that my lifelong- best-friend made the year she was dead broke and gave all these "presents from the prairie" as Christmas gifts.  While I am not much of a "thing person," I can't think of many things I cherish more.

Then, there were the two boxes filled with the ornaments I had made in my previous marriage.  My ex-husband has two grown daughters nearly my age. And, he has a son whom I will call just J.

J. is 17, now, but when his dad and I first met and dated, J.  was five and lived full-time with the first wife of my Ex. When we married, my Ex declared his desire to have J. full-time with us and I endeavored to make our house a home for him.  Many things made this totally impossible, not the least of which was that J. didn't want me to be in his family. His mother had declared me an enemy (although she had dumped my Ex 8 years previously and he had subsequently lived with another woman).  The problem was compounded on many levels that I will reveal in later posts...

But every Christmas, we made ornaments together.  J and I would sit and decorate and design Christmas ornaments. The first year we spray painted cheap glass balls white and a little six-year old J. and I drew on them with paint pens.  He was always big for his age and had poor manual dexterity which made tiny work frustrating.  Nevertheless, he loved the creating and the hanging.  Another year, we painted them with many colors - dripping the paint on the inside of clear glass balls. Yet another, we glued beads on the outside of plastic teardrop-shaped ones. One other year, we stuffed tinsel, beads and glitter inside the clear balls, making abstract winterscapes inside, all glistening and pretty.

And each year, I made one ornament especially for J. It would be my best work, the most carefully decorated. And, I would write or paint or glue his name on it, just as my mother had done for us.

The last year my Ex and I were married, I made ornaments alone because J. had decided it was too babyish - he was twelve and undergoing some rough times in general.  He wouldn't talk to me nor did he want to be part of our celebrations.

I still made J. his special ornament, anyway. It was a small glass red heart on which I wrote: "To J. with all my love, Merry Christmas."  I wrapped it up and gave it to him on our Christmas morning... which never seemed to be close to the actual 25th of December but we had always managed to have a good time anyway.

Somehow, all of these ornaments were in this box intact.  I watched the teenaged son of My Man hang the ornaments of another child. Each ball caused a small spark of emotion: My Mom's gifts to me, my Sister's crafts...  and the chronological examples of J.'s continued rejection of my love and care - each struck a different emotional chord.

The last ornament we pulled out was the little, red heart from '05. I couldn't decide whether to hang it. I opted to put it aside but the cleaning lady put it up the very next day. Her need for order outweighing my emotional imbalance...

Today, I went to Target and bought a dozen anonymous ornaments.

Tomorrow, before My Man and his son arise, I will take down all the J.-specific ornaments and put them in a box to give to My Ex.  And I will put up the anonymous balls in their place and start anew...  One ornament at a time.

I have a week left before Christmas. That's enough time to make My Man and his son a couple of ornaments each.

Nevertheless, it will just take a leap of faith that this time the boxes in which they live will not need to go missing, be lost nor put aside. They will abide and grow fat with time and be filled with more ornaments belonging to others whom I love.