Christmas in Grandma's House
The ornaments are up. Not all of them — we don’t have a tree big enough for my grandmother’s full collection, and honestly, I’m not ready for some of them anyway. The little ceramic angel she painted in 1987. The photo ornament of my grandfather, gone twenty years now. Those are still in their boxes in the hall closet, wrapped in tissue paper and waiting. But the tree is up, strung with lights and hung with the mismatched collection of our life: the “Baby’s First Christmas” ornaments for each kid (Emma’s is a pink bootie, Thomas Jr.’s is a tiny baseball glove), the handmade salt dough stars from Sunday school, and yes, a few of Grandma’s — the safer ones, the ones that don’t make me cry. ...