The Tree

I picked up the Christmas tree tonight.  It is thawing.  We have always had real tree.  I like the ‘charlie brown’ style, full of holes and usually missing a limb or two.  This year’s edition is nearly 8 feet high, I had to break off part of the top as our ceilings are not that high.  It is sure to be a beauty tho.

Generally, I am the one who decorates the tree.  On my tree you will find a mishmash of ornaments.  They are not the perfectly matched units from cylinder tube costing $20.  No, my tree is full of odd pieces of history and they tell the story of my family.

The lights go on first.  I like the small lights, no blinkers, just the lovely multi-coloured rays.  The first ornaments are two that make me cry every year;  they belonged to my grandparent’s- my dad’s parents.  I do not remember giving the ornaments but I cherish them as if they were made of gold. They are old Hallmark balls that say Grama and Grampa.  The silky string that is the canvas for the bulb is getting frayed.  I always hang the balls near to each other; Grama’s just a bit higher than Grampa’s.  Dad and Grama would laugh at that, Grampa not so much.  When I put the ornaments on the tree, I feel sad that they are not here now.  I wish they knew my kids.  I wish I knew them now, as a grown up. But I know they are together, wherever they are. And I swear I feel all each person's spirit with me when I put out those ornaments.  Those two Christmas balls alone are worth half a box of kleenex. My family have learned to just say nothing and let me blubber.  I will be fine in an hour.

The other ornaments are ones that we have collected.  There is The First Christmas from 1989 and some of the other tree trimming we bought that year has survived.  I laugh when I see the Woolco price tag on the boxes. Two Baby’s First ornaments exist.   The Kids have various tree trimmings from their childhood craft times, too.  I love those the best.  My favorite of all time is the year we made clothes pin angel decorations. The pin was the body, coffee filters were cut to make wings and The Kid’s faces where the faces of the angels.  Absolutely hilarious – and perfect. The past few years we have begun to collect memories of our vacations for the tree.  I have found out this is an entirely fascinating and tacky industry; yet highly appealing.  Funny thing, I haven’t been able to find the right ornament for Maui – I guess I will have to go back to continue the search.  Last year I completed the ornaments with photos of the dogs inside.  Those make me laugh out loud.  I must get one for Lenny the Lizard.

From time to time people make jokes about the tree.   Those folks do not understand that the random collection of things is really the true reflection of this family, of this house, of these four walls.  It is a snap shot of time over many years.  Nothing on the tree matches, nothing is perfect.  It is a real tree.  Pass the tissues.

Rinks

Today I was in a hockey rink that I have never been to before and yet it was exactly the same as all the others.  Some rinks are built with bricks, some are the tin can variety, and some are throw backs to another era with wooden benches.  Two things remain universal inside every rink: 1) everyone’s opinion of what the “right” call the referee should make is different and 2) the loudest person in the rink usually knows the least about the game.

As I stood there today, I realized that I have been in four different rinks in the past two weeks.  This is not earth shattering but it is odd since I am no longer a ‘hockey mom’.  The Boy is an adult and my role is no longer chauffer.  I am a mere fan.  I love it.  I simply show up when I am ready, watch the game and the leave at my leisure.  I treasure his nod of the helmet acknowledgement I receive – once - during the game.  Last week I went to a game and it was a real treat to run into another hockey mom that I haven’t seen in ages.  We agreed it was good fun to see the boys (for they will always be the boys, not men) on the ice together again.  Gone are all parental delusions of grandeur, these boys are playing for fun only.  This rink is brick rink with wooden benches and the flooring looked like it had been redone since the last time I was there. 

Earlier in the week I was loitering in the community rink looking at old hockey team pictures.  It was really, really hard to find The Boy amongst all the faces.  I tried doing the math of how old he was in 2005 or 2007 and what level that age is and then figured out if Atom came before or after PeeWee and what year did he not play because of the broken wrist….Oy.  I ended up relying on the coaches to landmark the years. I laughed at the pictures of hockey hair and smiled at the memories.  Sadly, the boys will not be playing in this rink again – no ice time available.  This rink is made of bricks and cement.  It has remained the same through all of our years of hockey.

Last weekend my little niece asked me to come to her skating lesson.  I found it odd to be sitting there with my little brother watching his daughter navigate the ice.  As we adults talked I kept remembering him learning to skate when he was about the same age.  There are still moments when I find it hard to believe he is a parent – because he has always been my little brother.  But there he is doing up skates and zipping jackets and this little girl calls him dad.  It was one of those full circle moments.  This rink was more bricks than tin and so new it does not yet have smell of frozen sweat permeating through it.

And that brings me to today. When I am watching a game, I prefer to stand at one end of the rink, just off to the side of the net. I was standing there today, Tim’s cuppa steeped tea resting on the ledge, watching another niece play in a girl’s hockey tournament.   Many years ago The Girl played a season of girl's hockey before deciding it wasn’t for her.  Her games were usually in a community rink with a terrible viewing area.  She did not have any tournaments other than the standard minor hockey week tourney.  This was a very short lived hockey career and yet very memorable. I’m not even sure The Girl owns skates now.  Today’s rink was like a tin can, metal frame, tin roof, metal seating.  It had the rink smell, the loud ‘fan’ and young referees being judged by the crowd.  New rink for me but it was oddly familiar. Good game, too.