OP-ED

Ornaments that never lose their sheen

Posted 12/21/22

I remember lying underneath the Christmas tree, listening to the Johnny Mathis Christmas album, looking up at the shiny metallic orbs. In one my face was green, another, gold, and another, red. My …

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OP-ED

Ornaments that never lose their sheen

Posted

I remember lying underneath the Christmas tree, listening to the Johnny Mathis Christmas album, looking up at the shiny metallic orbs. In one my face was green, another, gold, and another, red. My mom’s Christmas ornaments held a special fascination for me.

Before the Elf on the Shelf, there were my mom’s elves with impish grins and pointy ears and noses, dressed in red and green felt. It was always tempting to unfold their legs, their knees tucked under their chins, to make them walk. Tiny Mr. and Mrs. Santas came in three pairs, with him hoisting a Christmas tree over his shoulder, and her with hands in a warm muff. One Mrs. Santa still wore her wire frame glasses.

There were six large glass orbs, hand painted in vibrant hues. The one with the lady in the pleated fuchsia dress held a banner that read, “Merry Christmas.” My mom had bought them when she was 18.

When I opened the boxes the other day, I was struck how the old ornaments differed from my memory. The elves wore faded suits, although their painted faces still looked brand new. The Mr. and Mrs. Santas, I discovered, were affixed to tiny coasters, and the Mrs. Santas wore scarves made of corn husks.

The original box which contained the hand painted ornaments disintegrates a little further each time it is opened. The outside of the box is marked “Poland,” and the price sticker from the Sav-On Drugs store read $1.89. Only three of the six sections still contain an ornament. This was the precious cargo I brought home from California in my carry-on luggage last month.

It is a strange place to have arrived, to see a new family’s cars at your old house, where you’d memorized every crack in the sidewalk, your parents’ possessions parceled out. It’s funny the things that suddenly seem important, like old Christmas ornaments.

They came out every year, and I was eager to see my old friends: the elves, the Mr. and Mrs. Santas, and the big bright globes with the lady in the pleated fuchsia dress. Butter was on the table for dinner instead of margarine, Johnny Mathis was singing “White Christmas,” my mom’s wine cake was in the oven, and my dad had strung the colored bulbs on our house and our Christmas tree.

When I walked in the front room today, I breathed deeply to inhale the pine scent. For the last few years I’ve had an affinity for little felt mouse ornaments. Mice look more appealing when dressed in sweaters, holding snowballs or wearing skis. (Some are holding bottlebrush Christmas trees like the old Mr. Santas.) I may have overdone it with the mice this year. It almost looks like an infestation.

Alongside my felt mice are my old friends, the elves, and the Mr. and Mrs. Santas. Faded as they are, they conjure up images of my parents, and the dining room table set for company. Johnny Mathis is there, and I might park under the tree until company arrives, and gaze up at the ornaments and lights. It’s the season when everything old seems new again.

A California transplant, Erin O’Brien lives in Warwick and is an occasional contributor to these newspapers.

ornaments, traditions

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