I miss the tinsel*

The past two Christmases have been a little difficult. For a decade, the rhythm of my holidays was set: Thanksgiving with mom, Christmas Eve into Christmas morning with in-laws, New Year's Eve with friends, and finally Ukrainian Orthodox Christmas with dad. But my separation from my husband has changed things. Now there's a hole in the middle; right at Christmas Eve.

Last year and this past week I spent Christmas Eve at my dad's house. Since the Orthodox calendar has Christmas coming in January, December 24th is a quiet night. It was just the four of us, my dad, step-mom, brother and me. My dad hung the lights on the tree, my brother and I hung the ornaments, there was Christmas music playing, we drank a little, and laughed a lot.

It was my second year returning to this tradition, and I felt a little less like an intruder this time around. Isn't that crazy, to feel like an intruder on your own family? New traditions are hard to forge. I feel clumsy and out of place. But the change is good. I'm among my family and moving on.

I spilled the beans on my dad's Christmas gift. After three glasses of wine, this drunk can't keep secrets. I got a hug and a kiss on the head. He's thrilled with his upcoming gift.

"Now someone has to get me the hat to go with it" he said to my step-mom.

I think it's pretty awesome my dad wants to dress like Tom Baker's Dr. Who.

Later in the evening my brother and I discussed an olive green plastic brick with an ornament hook through its corner. We found the thing at the very bottom of the ornament box. Upon reflection, we figured it once was covered in wrapping paper and ribbon, and was meant to be an ornament shaped like a Christmas gift.

"Now it's a bar of soap" I said.

"I like soap" said my brother, as he hung it on the tree.

This week I think I'll make a Christmas ornament for my parents. Then maybe next year, as I decorate the tree with my brother, I can hang it among the growing collection of memories and soap.

* The tinsel is a reference to the Christmas trees at my grandmother's and great-grandmother's houses. They were always dripping with tinsel; the individual strand type, not the garland type. Somehow the cats' bellies survived their annual nibbling of tinsel threads, and we'd be sweeping the glittering strands from dusty corners, months after the trees came down. It's a little sad to see the tree at my dad's house go tinsel-free.