Crystal

Well….of course I can. What a question. But it was an issue for me. Because my Christmases  have almost always been celebrated around a decorated “Christmas Tree.” There were those lean years as a single mom that meant spending money for a tree meant cutting back on presents, so trees were out. I wanted my son to enjoy Christmas abundance even if it meant no tree. We always had other decorations out, stockings, things inherited from my Grams, but a few years it was my Ficus tree decorated with tiny lights, ribbon bows and candy canes. Festive yes, but not exactly the Christmas vision in my head.

Looking back those Christmases were some of the best. We had a big, over the top dinner, presents picked out just for my son and homemade Christmas cards, cookies and candy for friends. There was an abundance of love. That was enough.

As my finances improved, so did our Christmas celebrations, there was money for a tree, perhaps just a small one, but a tree nonetheless. And always the stocking filled to the brim with all manner of goodies. There were Christmases filled with friends, music and laughter and those big dinners.

I don’t know when the tree became such a big deal to me. Decorating a tree was something I looked forward to, year after year. I loved the white lights, the old ornaments, the sparkle. Decorating a tree to me is an art form. Each branch must have multiple ornaments, beginning with larger ones at the trunk and ending with tiny decorations on the tips of the branches. I use dozens of decorations. Bins and boxes of ornaments were stored waiting for their holiday release. It could take anywhere from two days to five to get it just right.

When Mr B and I moved into this house with the high ceilings, we got a 10 foot tree.  Not a huge tree by today’s standards, but I was in Christmas Heaven!! It was time to buy even more ornaments. Insert smiley face and ignore Mr Grumpy Pants over in the corner. Each year I give a new ornament to every family member. I started this tradition when Trev was very young and now his old ornaments have been passed down to his children, the ones we can still find anyway, apparently he was denied the hoarding gene.  sigh.

I continued the tradition after marrying Mr B and with the addition of the Grands, I’m a happy ornament shopping Grams!  As the kids grow into adulthood and leave to begin lives of their own, they’ll have a box of Christmas memories to  enjoy and a head start on decorating their own trees. It’s a tradition that I still follow today, even thought the kids are grown, they still get a new Christmas ornie each year. It’s sweet to see the progression of ornaments, from Super Heroes and Princesses to more sophisticated choices, they’ve grown up and out grown the super heroes, although I still have princesses, I mean come on! Princesses born are Princesses forever.  Right??

Where was I? Oh, the year of the 10 footer. I was beyond excited! I got to shop for new ornaments for me! ME!!! Oh joy! (Still ignoring Mr Grumpy Pants.) Those days there was a tree in every room in the house, even the bathrooms. Furniture had to be moved to make room, regular decor needed to be packed away to make room for Christmas.  I was the Queen of  Christmas! In some rooms there were 2 trees, sometimes 3. These were mostly small but they were still trees, and each room had its own theme.

The dining room had a 7 foot tree and  was snowflakes and snow people. Mr B’s small tree was aviation inspired, a nod to his military service as an F16 pilot and then a commercial airline guy. His bathroom was all about golf, the guest bedroom was always festooned with girlie Christmas and the guest bath was my junker’s tree, decorated with escutcheons, door knobs and skeleton keys.  A woodland tree and Santa decorated the tiny living room and the kitchen tree was an ode to eating, adorned with cookie cutters, old spoons and tiny china cups and saucers. You get the idea. There were trees, lots and lots of trees. The first year we had the “big” tree I was embarrassed at how skimpy the decorations were. But no one else seemed to care in the free-for-all of opening gifts. I hit the after Christmas sales and loaded up, determined not to feel embarrassed again.

As the kids got older so did I, and decorating that tree became a bit of an issue since I had to climb a ladder to decorate the top. I have major back issues and it became painful to “do’ the tree. Still I persisted. Mr B is not the Christmas King, he went along for the ride when the kids were young and even when the Grands were still living close by. But the tree was my domain and he was happy to let me have at it. He would put it up, and do the lights and hand the holiday baton to me. Then the miracle of pre-lit trees!!! He no longer had to fuss with, or fix those pesky light strings. He could put the tree sections together, place it where I wanted it, plug it in, then go enjoy a glass of beer while watching college football, or golf, or god forbid, tennis, while I fluffed, and cajoled the tree into shape and did my magic thing, turning faux into fabulous.

I gave up our 10 footer several years ago, it was just too much. So we gave it to our neighbors and bought a smaller 7½ footer. It lasted a couple of years but succumbed to the heat in the attic and disintegrated. Enter “Gloria.” A flocked, glorious pre-lit beauty. I loved Gloria with a Christmas passion, I moved all the Hallmark and brightly colored ornaments to a small 4 foot tree in the family room. Nothing but silver and gold and copper for Gloria. Oh my, the days spent getting the ornaments just right. Again I was spending 2-3 days bending over, stooping, squatting and yes, standing on a little stool to place Grandma’s angel. My back couldn’t take it even though I had stopped with the whole ornies on every branch thing. Besides, Gloria had like 700 tips or something astronomical like that. Even I couldn’t justify purchasing 1,000 ornies.

Plus there was Mr B who became a stranger, known only as Mr Grumpy Pants when it came time to move the bins, bags and boxes of “Christmas crap beauty,” down from the roof furnace, otherwise known as that “hotter than hell” attic crawl space. It took an afternoon, then I commandeered the ladder and headed to my closet’s top shelves to remove even more boxes of precious Christmas decor that couldn’t take the heat in hell. It was quite the production.

Last year I had to be honest and say it was too much. I cut back, I sent boxes of ornies to my Dil, I stopped with most of the trees, I had only 3 or 4 small ones plus Gloria. It required 3 trips to the chiropractor and a couple of days in bed, but I got the house decorated for our Christmas party and I was happy.

Putting it all away was a chore. I’m not one to keep Christmas up for long, by the time January 1 rolls around I’m craving simplicity. It takes longer to pack everything up because of course things have to be wrapped, placed in original boxes, etc etc. There are boxes stacked for days during the take down. And even I begin to wear Grumpy Pants, although mine are prettier than Mr B’s.  When it’s finally all put away, Mr B is  happy  not having to crawl into the hotter then hell attic for another year. He returns to his good-natured self the minute that attic door slams shut and he can say goodbye to Christmas and Mr Grumpy Pants. Me? I’m already making notes to myself for Christmas the next year. My Grumpy Pants are stored with the ghosts of Christmas Past.

This year, I actually dreaded getting the tree out. WHAT???? Was I ill? Did I suddenly catch a bad case of Grumpitis?? What the hell was wrong with me? I just wasn’t looking forward to all the pain and the issues that decorating Gloria would cause, what with the chiro visits and pain meds. So I made the decision to sell Gloria. Then I spent a couple of days whining and being the guest of honor at my very own pity party. How could I have Christmas? What would the house be without a treeee??? Oh whine, and then whine some more. I became ashamed of myself. Here I was, whining about not having a tree when so many have no homes, no money for gifts, and may not even know where they will be living January 1st. That put things in perspective.

So Gloria was sold to a nice family who promised to glorify her with lots of ornaments and sing carols around her. I brought out the little 4 foot tree and decorated him with lots and lots and LOTS of ornies.  I still had to bend and twist to do the little tree even though it was on a table, and I still had to see my chiro. Sooo, it’s a sure thing, I need to make even more changes.

The funny thing is, I’m OK with that. Not having a larger, main tree actually stirred my creative juices. I started donating boxes of ornies and greenery. I sold several more things. The more I sold and gave away the more excited I became. The years “Of Hallmark” didn’t make it down from the attic. I could have a simple farmhouse Christmas! Yes!!! If your idea of simple is greenery adorning every surface, and bowls  of ornaments and fairy lights, then Yes! It will be a simple Christmas.

Next year there may not be a tree at all and I’m OK with that. I already have ideas for using some of my more precious ornaments.  Or maybe I’ll have a pencil tree, pre-lit, unadorned except for the lights and the angel. Maybe not. Christmas isn’t about the tree. It’s about spending time with family, it’s about generosity and love. It’s about the birth of Christ. I’m definitely OK with that.

Create your Christmas sanctuary no matter where you live. Use a tree…..or not. Love the home you’re in.

I was thinking a couple of weeks ago. I mean, I think every day, all day and until the wee hours of the morning. But on this day I wandered aimlessly through the house, eyeballing rooms and looking for inspiration. What still needs to be done? What can I change? Am I happy with this vignette? Hmmm, my thoughts wandered to Christmas. I needed a quick and easy craft or project, and as I walked through that room that confounds me with all its gadgets and blinking lights, tools,  and timers, otherwise known as the kitchen, I suddenly remembered a recent Miss Mustard Seed post.  “Eureka!” I’d found my inspiration.

Remember making pomanders as a kid? I do. I made them almost every Christmas…..until I got to be a teenager and was just too cool to do elementary school crafts. My Grams would hang them in the closet where they would smell good for awhile and then just….smell. But she loved that I’d make them for her. So I thought if Miss Mustard Seed makes them, I could too. So I did. (Not that I can do everything Miss Mustard Seed does…. I mean come on, she’s Marian freaking Parsons.

Talk about easy. This is a great project for you to do with your kids. If you have any, if not, borrow your neighbors’, the moms will love you and the kids will have fun and go home with a present for said mom. Bonus!

The supply list is simple, you’ll need oranges, whole cloves and something sharp to make a pilot hole. I used a bamboo skewer but you could just as easily use a long nail. Just make sure whatever you use doesn’t make a hole larger than your clove stem. And supervise the kiddos so no one ends up with an eye poked out. Trips to the ER are sooo not fun. And will ruin your holiday mood. Plus there’s the whole “what-did-you-do-to-my-child thing if you borrowed a neighbor’s pride and joy.

This is so easy, I completed 3 while watching a Hallmark movie. During commercials. Took all of about 30 minutes. If you are artistic, you can make a pattern by using a sharpie and making small dots along your pattern line. You can use rubber bands to make sure you get your lines straight. Or you can use the eyeball it method. Guess which method I used?? If you guessed the completely helter skeleter eyeball it method, you know me pretty well!

I pushed holes with the skewer approximately every ¼ inch. Randomly. Then just pushed my cloves into the holes. If one looked a bit lonely, I made another hole and gave it a brother…or sister clove. That’s it. Then I cleverly put a dot of hot glue on top and used a star anise to add some pizazz.

Tips: Cover your work space with something you don’t mind getting juicy. I used an old cookie sheet covered with foil.

Dump some cloves out next to your oranges, so you don’t have to pick them out one by one from the tiny little jars.

Star Anise can be purchased in small amounts in your grocer’s Hispanic or international food section.

Soak your oranges in a bleach water mix  for a few minutes (dilute your bleach with water, I did 3 parts water to one part bleach and then rinsed,   patted my oranges dry and left them for the afternoon to make sure they were totally dry). It’s said this helps them last longer. It kills any fungi lurking on the orange skin. This is also recommended for keeping pumpkins longer in your autumn arrangements. (a little tip for next fall.)

Use barely ripe oranges for the longest life. If you use really ripe ones and don’t use the bleach rinse your pomanders will likely begin rotting in a few days.

If you want to hang your pomander, add T pins and ribbon to your supply list. Cut a length of ribbon and fold it so that the 2 ends meet and push the pin through the ribbon ends and into the pomander. Wait 24 hours for the juice to stop dripping and hang in your closet, or entry or mud room. Anywhere you want a lovely scent to waft.

The pomanders will last a couple of weeks. I made mine on the 11th of November and two are still going strong. I don’t think they’ll last much longer, they’re beginning to look a bit squishy and one has grown a lovely gray fuzzy sweater. And eeeuux, gross.

I seem to remember rolling them in some sort of powder when I was a kid. Orris Root maybe? Some fixative to help them last longer? For the life of me, I can’t recall what it was. If anyone knows, please email me.

These make a lovely hostess gift or something handcrafted for a special teacher. Or a gift you give to yourself.

Create a sanctuary no matter where you live. One room, one project at a time. Love the home you’re in.

I’m one of those people who fuss with tablescapes. I set something up that I think looks fine, even good and within 15 minutes I’m adding or removing things. Sometimes I even take everything off the table or the sideboard and start over. This autumn was no different. I started out with one look, couldn’t leave well enough alone, and through the weeks, I changed it up 3 or 4 times.

Imagine my surprise when, getting ready for Thanksgiving, I discovered something long overdue for the one-way trip to Goodwill. It isn’t as if I didn’t know it was in the Goodwill box, Hello! I put it there. But my mind sometimes conveniently forgets where I put things, and like a child I’m newly excited to re-discover something I’d forgotten about. This time it was the Thanksgiving platter I’ve had for years. It’s ugly. And scratched. Annnd made of Melamine. Oh yes, Melamine. That practical material manufactured in some mad scientist’s lab, something that was hailed as virtually unbreakable (that was big lie) easy to clean (lie again) and the answer to housewive’s prayers. (another whopper).

Melamine…. what’s in that anyway? Some god awful cancer causing ingredient? I don’t know but it’s not in my kitchen anymore. I remember we had lots of it and my Great Aunts were the Melamine queens. They even had ashtrays made of it, which always sported dozens of burn marks from the not-quite-extinguished butts. ugh.

The origin of my platter is lost to my memory, I have a hazy recollection of purchasing it at some big box store, maybe in the 70’s,  but couldn’t say when or where. Except that it traveled with us wherever we moved, and ended up in Florida in the early 90’s. I remember when my son was just a youngster and still capable of being amazed by his mother, that platter was brought out at Thanksgiving. It held no turkey, instead it held two roasted cornish game hens with all the Thanksgiving fixings. Trev was so excited to have his very own “turkey,” albeit a baby one, but one that was all his. This little treat was our tradition until he got old enough to figure out Mom had pulled a fast one and what he was eating was not turkey, but rather some strange little bird that may have been chicken is disguise.

He started  asking for “real” turkey. It made me a bit sad to give up that silly little cornish hen tradition that we shared. But what are old traditions if they no longer serve us? So we had real turkey, but always presented on that tacky melamine platter. I don’t remember when it got relegated to the the back of the cabinet under the sink, but we discovered it when I was preparing to marry Mr B and merge households. It got packed up and I forgot about it. Trev never mentioned it and perhaps he had forgotten it too.

After he died, I removed his things from a storage room he kept. Where all  his important things lived while he moved around. I saved some things for me, the rest was divided between his two daughters and close friends. The platter was in a box marked “kitchen” in his handwriting. In that box I found not only the platter but some special edition Crayola canisters, some vintage cracker tins and a small Jim Beam box. All things I remembered from the past. And as it turned out, he hadn’t forgotten the platter after all.

I couldn’t part with the platter. It held the memories of those baby turkey days, years of real turkey dinners and the days spent together. This past summer I was sorting things again, doing one of my semi-regular purge sessions. (when you have as much crap as I do, those semi-regular purges are necessary to keep a clear walking path through the house. I drew a map for Mr B so he wouldn’t get lost on his way to the bathroom.) The platter was put in the Goodwill bin, awaiting its final resting place with another family. And then……

And then the other day when I was in the midst of simplifying the dining table decor, I crawled into the attic in search of a vase I put up there. I spied it peeking out of the box, patiently waiting. Tail feathers gave it away. Inspiration struck. I told Mr B, “that old thing would make a cute art piece for fall in someone’s home.” He raised his eyebrows and smirked. I read his mind. It read, “Who would ever consider that crappy thing art?” Um……me, I did!! And so my most favorite autumn decor became….you guessed it, that ugly, scratched, tacky turkey platter. Proof positive that art is truly in the eye of the beholder.

It’s found its purpose. It will forever serve as the centerpiece on my sideboard where it displays its faded colors with pride.

What do you have stashed away in your home? What’s in your Goodwill box? Your attic? The basement? Bring out your memories and glory in your history…..no matter how tacky  or scratched. My son kept that platter with things that were important to him. Maybe he remembered those cornish hen days after all. I’ll never know. But I cherish the memory of that little boy, face split by a huge smile as he dug into his very own turkey.

Create your sanctuary with your memories, find a way to include your memory makers. Art can be anything. It doesn’t have to match your decor. You don’t have to spend lots of money. Decorate with things that make you smile, that speak to your heart. Your home is your sanctuary. Fill it with YOU.