I’m nursing some Caturra coffee in my favorite cup – one that once belonged to my grandmother – and actually enjoying the opportunity to be still. To my right is our Christmas tree, lit with white, covered in ornaments that tell an interesting and often comical history of our family. There’s the card stock gingerbread man with Sydni’s named misspelled by a kind but misinformed Sunday school teacher years ago; the wooden angels with individual names across the bottom, a joint labor of love between my mom and I; tiny pictures of the kids as babies; gifts from former students and friends…
It occurs to me that we have few ornaments that reflect a more recent history. A set of five penguins with each of the kids’ names, a memory of our first Christmas here in Virginia, without Lonnie, without a tree of our own – that one means a lot to me. It took no small measure of courage to pick it out at the kiosk in the mall, bring it home and write those names. I remember being so desperate to claim some sense of family. A six dollar ornament was a tentative but important first step.
Perhaps it’s time to gather a few more ornaments. Much of our lives have moved forward, in a very positive way. Sitting here in a cluttered but quiet house, I feel home. It is a very good place to be. So perhaps I shall, indeed, go shopping.