I’m not surprised people feel a special fondness for Christmas trees.  They’re beautiful and often wrapped in a lifetime of fond memories, family and friends and nostalgia galore.  Some of them are actually gorgeous – grown up trees with a theme and coordinated colors, ones that make you stop and gaze in awe.

My tree isn’t a grown up tree, never has been, but I surely do love it.

When I graduated college and moved into my first apartment mom gave me a Christmas box.  It held ornaments we’d hung on our family tree every year of my childhood along with some decorations from around the house.  The first year I opened that box – oh, my – it was like unpacking home.  The tiny gold angel from my grandma that I’d hung on the tree since I was six.  Ornaments mom had made in Hawaii and the Philippines.  Three wooden angels playing instruments to welcome the baby Jesus.

Over time we added our own ornaments, ones that represented a life we share.  Tiny apples and a few select ornaments students made me in my teaching days.  Souvenirs from our travels.  Gifts from family and friends.  Keepsake ornaments from T-man and Bear’s playschool days along with their annual ornaments gifted from grandmom.  Our tree tells a story, one that spans my entire lifetime, one that has room for all the years to come.