Once more into the box dear friends . . .

That odd time of year - after all the tinsely, twinkly stuff, now faced with a balding Christmas tree, drifts of needles and the dawning of a new year.
This morning I took the cards down and disrobed the tree, bringing out the cardboard box where all the decorations live throughout the year in the attic, apart from a brief couple of weeks. Sentimental - me . . . nah! Yes, actually. It's not so much the tree and all the bits, it's the memories of each Christmas, the buying of the tree, the gentle arguing about the best way of keeping it upright and then the searching for the ceremonial box with its bizarre and not-at-all Interiors Magazine collection of baubles and hand-made things.
A friend of ours over the road (hello Lisa) has a little extra family ceremony each December - the kids (now grown up) still go out with her and choose a new dec for the tree. I thought that was rather touching so we did the same. Our choice, the same as one of her kids - a small, glittery seal pup (nicely eccentric) in photo below - also in the picture, another old favourite: a 50s pink bauble from Mark's mother's old collection and a small festive cardboard house which was made by a friend's (hello Kim and Ella) daughter in the UK (now 25? or so).
I would never want to dispatch these oddities in favour of a themed 'this year's' colour or something else more tasteful; Christmas wouldn't be quite the same.

Memories

Odd, is it not, how memories are formed and how they 'ignite' on/at the sight/smell or taste of something.
While putting the Christmas tree decorations away yesterday I found the little Father Christmas 'starfish' that has always been on any tree from my childhood onwards.
I thought back over the years: the flat in Muswell Hill, the house in Dorset, our various establishments where the decs have moved with us, Mum having stayed with us each year and happy to let her own tree-decorating end.
Before I wrapped Father C in paper I took a moment to really look at the materials he is made of, consider how many trees he might have been hung on, and actually, what age he must be.
My mother said she didn't really remember where the decoration had come from but was certain it had belonged in her grandmother's house, or possibly had come from some wealthy establishment where she had been 'in service'. Old then! for sure, and the most important part of the Christmas preparations.
The box of tinsel, lights, baubles etc is closed now, F.C carefully placed inside; back into the attic.
Goodbye till next year, then.