We managed to set aside some time a couple of weekends ago to decorate the tree. We all felt it was time for the tree. At the same time, the other boxes of decorations were taken out of storage, hopeful that they would soon decorate our home. Alas, they have remained in boxes in the kitchen since then, a reminder of how little free time I seem to have. Well, yesterday, on our way upstairs to read a book, I glimpsed the boxes. As soon as I opened the first box, Quinn was hooked and we finished our decorating.
As I put away the last box, I looked around, thinking that something was missing. I went back to the storage closet and found one last box. Once this jolly little guy had made his appearance, then I knew everything was complete and the Christmas season had truly arrived.
I don't think I would be exaggerating if I said this Santa was at least 60 years old. He originally belonged to my grandmother. Each Christmas, when my grandmother was ready to decorate, my mother would climb up into the attic and carry down the boxes of decorations. I would wait for him and for a few precious minutes, i was allowed to hold him gently and play with him before he went to his place. Everything had a place, you know. His happened to be overlooking the living room and there he would stay until January 6, what is referred to as Old Christmas Day in Newfoundland. On that day, all the decorations would come down and i would have a few more minutes to say good-bye to him until the next year. When my grandmother passed away a few years ago, i asked my family if anyone would mind if I had the Santa. No one did and he continues to be a part of my Christmas traditions.
And yes, he sits on a shelf overlooking our living room until January 6th.