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| (Decorated Christmas Tree -- an example only -- not one from my childhood) |
Christmas Long Past
This time of year memories
from my childhood Christmases,
each year pretty much the same
replay again in my mind.
My parents and I shopped
for a real Christmas tree:
a spruce, kept it in the garage
until time was right to decorate.
My dad spent ages positioning
the stubborn tree in its holder
to get its angle perfect, trunk
straight, best side facing front.
Dad was the stringer of lights,
but Mother was boss of lights,
and Dad could not do it well enough
ever to please Mother who watched.
So there were some sparky moments
on the day the tree was put up,
when
Joy to the World was absent,
and words lacked Christmas spirit.
Placing the angel was very tricky,
as trees never had the perfect top, so
so the angel leaned one way or another.
Mother in charge of that, Dad silent.
What a feeling of relief when lights were on,
angel was atop. Time to hang ornaments.
My dad called it quits, his tasks finished.
Mother, sister, and I hung them one by one.
Last came the garlands and tinsel.
Mother usually did tinsel. She had
the eye for where to place it, to cover
certain places with branch gaps.
Time to rest then, to turn on lights, savor
the beauty of the tree as it lit up the room.
Time to have milk and cookies. Job done.
Bing Crosby sang White Christmas.
That is as I remember it, same pattern each year,
though each childhood Christmas tree was different,
I remember so much being the same, a movie
repeating itself. Each year I knew what to expect.
And yes, the memories of my Christmases past
really were 'the good old days.' I'd change nothing
except maybe one thing: the year Dad got Mom
an electric can opener instead of something personal!
Written for the 12/ 6 Poetry Jam prompt: Past and Future. Linked also to dVerse Open Link Night.
