My Mom gifted each of her kids a Christmas ornament every year. Many of the ones from the 60’s and 70’s were lovingly handmade. Each was carefully labeled with our name and year, using some NASA-calibre tape that has held on all these years. I pulled them out this year and reminisced on the story they tell.
My first one, top-left, was an angel head (angels were a recurring theme), handmade by Mom, who was living in a trailer in a god-forsaken frozen tundra during a blizzard with four kids under the age of 5 1/2, one a newborn.
Another notable one was a handmade dove of peace, made the Christmas after she buried her second child. I think the bird must have had special meaning for her.
A styrofoam-topped ice cream cone, with hand-stitched felt, was our ornament the Christmas of the year Colleen was born. Followed by a mischievous elf on a bell for Francine’s first Christmas (appropriate, in hindsight).
A golden satin angel with a foil halo, also handmade, bears a label written in my little-kid cursive handwriting. I must have been “helping” her that year.
I did the honors the year that I took shop, making festive wooden shapes for me and my siblings using a bandsaw and a drill press. Apparently, sanding was not covered in shop that year.
Noreen got in on the fun the year she was an exchange student, bringing home colorful ball ornaments from Japan.
The year we moved overseas, we spent Christmas in a barren apartment with loaner furniture from the airbase, as all our earthly possessions were being shipped over on a (very) slow boat from the States. In years since, Mom always remarked that she felt bad about Christmas that year for us. I expect it was hardest for her. But, nevertheless, she gave us each a Hummel ball ornament that year – she loved Hummels.
A wooden toy horse was the ornament the year Brian left for college, spending that in the USA with Noreen.
The next few ornaments were from Christmases when I was away at college, the first one of which Colleen and Fran were still living overseas with Mom and Dad. It must have been weird for them to be the only ones home for Christmas that year, before moving back to the States.
A few years later, I was the one that moved away, across the country, for what turned out to be forever. Mom still gave me an ornament when I came home from wherever I lived each Christmas. She kept a handwritten list up to date, and stored them for me in a box until I took them with me one year – I can’t remember which one. Then I became the caretaker of the ornaments and the list. I don’t hang many of these up, because they are so old, but each one is very special to me.
Thank you, Mom. ❤