Illumination...

The tree is up, and lit, and festooned with decorations collected over a quarter of a century. I well remember our first small tree in Lynchburg, Va. There were only about 10 ornaments, all wedding gifts from my sister, Deb. We strung miles of popcorn and cranberries to decorate the bare branches. I can still remember the scent of the corn and the sting of the needle as I repeatedly stabbed myself during the stringing process. Imagine our dismay when Drummer, our naughty Cocker Spaniel, ate every bit of popcorn he could reach. The tree looked mighty sad with saliva soaked thread and squished cranberries draping the branches. This years tree is big, bright and shiney. Each year I say, "It's the prettiest ever!"... and the multitudes of decorations are a culmination of all the years of Christmases past. The collection of brilliant ornaments cannot outshine the collection of memories that surround me when I gaze on this tree and see, in my mind, all the ones that came before it. Trees from my childhood, our newlywed years, the years when a baby cooed with glee at all the pretty lights. There is such joy in this symbol of Christmas, and such remembering.

Memories...

We spent the weekend visiting family in Long Beach, Mississippi. It was joyful. And thought provoking. We saw our nephew, 15, whom we have not seen since he was half this age and half this size. I was delighted beyond reason when he remembered that I used to make him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut into fun shapes. And that made me think about memories in general. There are so many things that I thought I would never forget, that are now lost in the mists of my mind. The feeling I felt at first kisses, falling in love, or the heart wrenching sadness that losses bring, or even the names of certain people who touched my life in a special way... moments gilded in joy or fraught with sorrow... major moments that one would think would be forever, indelibly etched in our minds. And then the other moments, small ones, that are part of the normal warp and woof of daily life. And honestly, I don't remember cutting sandwiches into shapes, but I am so glad that my nephew recalls it!

And that makes me wonder, too... the storehouse of memories that we do manage to hold onto, where do they go when we die? Do we take them with us, or are they gone, with a feathery, whooshing sound when the light goes out of our eyes? Are our memories a part of the atoms and amoebas that make up our world, or are they gone, gone in a blink, like birds on the beach?