According to my father, January 6th, Epiphany, is the last reasonable day to have a Christmas tree in one’s home. The liturgical calendar, from Advent to Epiphany, was our only argument against his humbuggery each year. Although he enjoyed seeing the tree lit up with all the family ornaments adorning it, he was always the last one ready to put up the tree and the first one ready to take it down.
So, in keeping with our traditional arrangement, I knew the day had come for me to take down the decorations that I’d taken responsibility for this year on my family’s humble estate. I started with my grandmother’s house, with its simple decor of wreath, nativity, and a few other seasonal sundries. Even with the small smattering of items, I was finished much more quickly than expected. I still had ample time before lunch, so I asked her if she wanted to play with her mother’s jewelry.
When I’d pulled out the Christmas decorations out of my old bedroom a few weeks before, I’d noticed a box of jewelry on the bed and I asked her about it. It was natural that it caught my eye right away because I have so many fond memories of sitting with my grandmother at her vanity and playing with her jewelry when I was a girl. I wondered if this jewelry was hers or my great-grandmother’s. She confirmed that it was her mother’s and mentioned that she almost donated it to a local garage sale once since it wasn’t getting used, but decided she couldn’t part with it.
After thinking about it for a couple of days I mentioned to her that the thought of the jewelry winding up in a garage sale left me feeling rather sad. I let her know that if she ever thought about garage selling it again that I’d like a chance to look through it first; she encouraged me to do so. This is what led to us sitting together in her living room, on January 6th, playing with jewelry together like we did when I was a kid; she at 90 and me at 36, trying on jewelry and talking about each piece as we pulled it out of the box.
