It’s always a whole lot more fun to decorate the house for Christmas than it is to take everything down. Getting out each ornament and remembering its history. Finding each decoration’s special spot where it is always placed. Positioning them just so and deciding how much is just enough.
I admit that in these latter years I’ve been trimming down my decorations. I no longer feel the necessity to display every single Christmas item in the boxes. It does streamline the process. But there are some that are too special to omit. The knitted snowmen, made by a friend dating back to junior high. The corn-husk angel holding a Christmas wreath, another hand made item that was a prize for selling the most wreaths in a fundraiser. The cross-stitch bird and musical horn ornament, one I made for my Mom years ago that recently came back to me. The detailed nutcrackers, given to us by Rich’s parents in the early years of our marriage.
At this end of the holiday each item gets carefully wrapped and placed in its box and stacked in containers, the same way every year. The tree, denuded of its decorations, garland and lights, is carried out the door trailing a telltale path of dry pine needles. The house once again resumes its normal appearance, no longer decked out in red and green.
We may have stripped the house of its Christmas decor, but the memories still linger. Sitting on the couch extracting trinkets from our Christmas stockings. Gathering around the table for a big family dinner. Eager little ones finding their names on presents under the tree, and always looking for more. Joy and laughter as presents are exchanged. Just being together with family, and talking on the phone with those who call from afar.
The Christmas boxes are once again stored away. In Rich’s words, the house has been de-Christmasized. There’s a bit of peace that comes with the transformation. Yet I’m already looking forward to doing it all again.
We’ve seen the thickets of thimble berries growing in “our woods” every summer. And each year the birds, critters and perhaps other berry lovers have gotten to them first. This year appears to be a bumper crop. Loads of big red berries hang from the branches, with many more promising to follow. We promised ourselves that this year we’d pick them and make jam.
A few days ago it became clear that the time was NOW. At least for the first round of picking. Each bush had one or more perfectly ripe berries. So Rich and I ventured out to see what we could gather. Although it meant only a berry here and a berry there, the bushes were plentiful enough to make it a worthwhile hunt. Moving across the road, we reaped even more berries – enough to come up with 4 1/2 cups between us. And judging by the remaining unripe berries, we could easily duplicate that several times if we keep diligent watch.
I had to hunt down a recipe for jam, and was surprised just how simple it was. Only two ingredients in equal quantities – thimble berries and sugar. It also warned that cleaning the berries was as time consuming as picking them. I won’t argue that point. And picking was a lot more fun.
reacquainted myself with the process. Then I dug in. (Notice “we” became “I” at this point…) Soon the house was redolent with sweet berry smell as the mixture simmered on the stove. It wasn’t long before it began to thicken and resemble jam, and filled more jars than I expected.
