Box of Ornaments

Survivor of the Great Depression,

you never threw anything away.

You passed on your hoarding obsession,

to Mom and Auntie May.

I don't know if you

gave this trait to me,

but, I know you

didn't pass it on to Aunt Sandy.

Maybe you are the reason,

I can't say, "no thank you,"

so I received your box of Christmas season

ornaments to go through.

Now, it’s up to me to decide,

what of yours is meaningful to me,

and what to throw away outside,

because no one else wants the responsibility.

The crate had to be older than me,

made from dingy, age-stained cardboard,

labeled with the logo of some chlorine company,

and dust-laden from where it was stored.

Sitting on my floor, like a kid, crisscrossed,

the lilac scent of your home lingered,

and upon opening the crusty box,

an ancient, fuzzy cobweb stuck to my finger.

Inside lay packed, vivid baubles and bells,

their mirror shine reflecting my childhood,

putting me under a Christmas spell,

and the scent of cinnamon and burning firewood.

Glittery pink circles, with a silver swirl

and metallic, teal bells with black

stood out against the majority pearl

and muted gold tones of the pack.

No one could say your tree wasn't gaudy,

still, you'd yank us out of bed,

to show off your favorite holiday hobby,

and we'd admire your replica Santa sled.

The family of plastic Rudolphs,

were a favorite of mine,

but Mark liked the red, soft

stockings with the intricate designs.

Remnants of shimmery, silvery tinsel

clung to beaded pink pincushions,

and to store-bought stencils,

used to make our own, home-made additions.

Four memory-filled years, the twinkled trinkets waited,

stored up high, behind a periwinkle knitted blanket,

crying out for someone as elated,

as you, to show them off at a Christmas banquet.

The random, blue Greek yogurt cup,

used to cover fragile pieces from the stash,

forced a grin, because it brought up,

how you’d never get rid of anything, even trash.

Your tree was always full of recycled adornments,

including green plastic bread ties,

which were used to hang ornaments,

instead of buying new supplies.

A thirty minute, fly-by task

turned into a big, four hour job,

not knowing having to ask

what to keep around, would make me sob.

My kitties pawed and scratched the pieces:

Tazz, trying to eat silver Christmas grass,

Oji chewing on felt poinsettias leaves,

and Royce making off with a fragile oval made of glass.

Holding them felt soft as velvet

and brittle as bone;

cherished as they were, I could not forget

how long they’d been left alone.

I’ve never much been one for decorating,

so picking out the best few to save,

made me feel bad for separating

the memories that they gave.

Unlike yours, my tree isn’t recycled plastic,

and maybe that is bad for the environment,

but it will be covered in fantastic,

pre-owned, Christmas ornaments.

The delicate decoupage Santa caps

from what must be 1950,

and the hand-me-down, hardened gingersnaps,

are my version of being thrifty.

While my live tree isn’t perfect,

for the first time since I bought my own home,

I’ll be decorating it with,

more than just pine cones.

I’ll use your energy-saving lights,

and crumpled tree skirt

to finally do Christmas right,

like you did when you were still on Earth.

And the topper… your twinkly, golden,

light-up star,

will reach up to Heaven,

me knowing that’s where you are.