TREE DECORATIONS

We put up our Christmas tree tonight. A bit late, I know - most people did theirs at the weekend, but for various reasons we weren’t able to.

I didn’t feel Christmassy. Not even Cliff could help with that tonight.

Anyway, it occurred to me that somehow or other our tree tells the story of us. Some decorations were mine, some were hers. One string of lights was mine, one we bought together. Certain things hanging on those branches were given to us and mean something - the wooden M and S from Sarah to celebrate our first Christmas together two years ago, the little glass angels that were Sammy’s mum’s back in the day, and the wooden map of Jersey - all tell a family story about where we’ve come from, and who we are.

One of my old baubles had hopes and dreams for 2017 attached to it like a curled up streamer. That was funny, reading that. I vaguely remembered not wanting to write anything too grand in case I’d get to 2018 and none of it had happened.

There isn’t a lot we do in family that’s like this, is there? I suppose some people have scrapbooks of old photographs, and maybe others write books of memories or keep old stuff in the loft. But even that’s a very personal thing. Decorating the tree feels like a sacred moment for a whole family to remember old Christmases and be excited about the one that’s coming.

Cliff warbled on. We stood back and admired the tree with its red and gold baubles and warm lights, its odd collection of important memories, and its cosy glow in the window.

I still didn’t feel particularly Christmassy. I hope that will come, but somehow, like the hand-painted baubles, the knitted baskets and the tiny straw angles showed me, I think the best thing is to make it yourself, to create that excitement for others. I wish I’d understood that a bit better in 2017.