ornaments nr one of my favourite unintentional collections over the years. my childhood best friend and i have celebrated together every year, without fail, for the past 30 years, and over the years she got me an ornament that spelled out my name in scrabble tiles, and another that was a "vibraphone" (probably intended to be a xylophone, but who can say?). a high school friend got me a marshmallow wearing a chef's hat and holding a spatula. it wasn't significant in any way, but it's silly and cute. when we were little, my brother bought our family gifts with his own money, and he got me a lime green teddy bear ornament. while a bit worse for wear, it's still around, 30-plus years later. i got our household family a clay art ornament with a little cartoon family personalized with our names above them, probably 15 years ago. i also bought a disco ball, longer ago than that, that looks really pretty when it reflects the lights. i made papier maché ornaments for all of our extended family when i was nine, and ours is falling apart, but it's been kept all these years. my mom got a singing elvis ornament in tennessee, and she used to love singing along with it. when she could no longer use her voice, she would still move her upper body and dance to it. these ornaments are not where they're supposed to be right now, and it's kind of important that they will be, even if he'll act like it's not. it's one of the traditions we can still maintain. 211129 ... tender_square (i love this narrative so much, nr. i can picture every delicate piece that graces the tree and i love how long each one has been lovingly maintained.) 211130 ... tender_square when we got married, she began the tradition of gifting us an ornament each year. we didn’t even own a tree. the first year it was a marigold bulb from hallmark with “2014” written in soft, white glitter. the second year it was a cobalt ceramic shell from a shop in pensacola, “love, mom 2015” written in sharpie on the back. the last ornament she gave us was a mermaid, likely from the same beach shop, with a curl of long hair waving in the same direction as her tail. we still didn’t have a tree. i don’t know if he knows this, but years ago i gave away the two beach ornaments, kept the first as a memento. her tradition fell by the wayside, but we bought an artificial tree in 2018, displayed that first wedding bulb in the center. had i known she was going to get sick, i never would have parted with the other ornaments. last year, i had a specialty one made just for him, our first christmas without her. in 2018, the last holiday we spent altogether, she gifted me michelle obama’s memoir, wrote inside: “to my delightful daughter, i hope you will enjoy the story of a fellow feminist. love, mom christmas 2018.” i scanned her handwriting, sent off the sample to an etsy artist who printed “love, mom christmas 2018” on a transparency slipped into a glass bulb. that new ornament, fragile as a bubble, is the centerpiece on the tree. 211130 ... nr :( this is the first year we won't see any of them at christmas. 211204 ... tender_square after they fluffed the fake branches, and drizzled the tree with beaded garland, they moved to unboxing the array of green, gold, and red ornaments. when joni mitchell sang, “he tried hard to help me, you know, he put me at ease,” her mind wandered though she willed it to stay, and a question popped up like one of the decorated orbs she released from the plastic case: would this be their last christmas together? she looped a hook through the top of a shiny shamrock bulb, hung it on the tree. in her absentmindedness, the hanger wasn’t secured properly on the bough and it slid from the needles—a tiny world shattered at her feet. she never knew the ornaments were glass. and the thought of him being just as fragile made her all the more sorry. while she moved to grab the broom and dust pan, he called out, “i’m going to put shoes on so i don’t get cut,” and she wished then that there was a protective covering he could wear to insulate his heart from the same damage. 211207 ... kerry we got into a huge fight this morning, paloma told me. she said he hated her ornaments and her fake christmas tree. he said it was too "Macy's." she showed me a picture of the tree. it's enormous, fluffy, dressed in garlands and stars and hearts, silver and red and gold. a bright gold glittery star like a little hat on top. it looks happy, i said. i reminded her that my tree is small and silver, the epitome of kitsch. yours goes with the aesthetic of your house, she said. she said she spent the day under blankets. it really struck a nerve. coming from a third-world country, paloma said, we didn't have christmas trees or glitter or that kind of thing. she said all she'd wanted was an american christmas, like see, mom? i don't need you to be happy. it's my "i made it" stamp, she said, it's much bigger than a tree. 211207 what's it to you? who go blather from