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I waited for as long as I possibly could. My heart provided many excuses: the cat loved to sit under IT, IT brightened up the room so, many friends had not yet seen IT. Epiphany was usually the last conceivable day, but January 6 came and went. Then I said I'd wait 'til the last snowfall, but more snow was predicted.
Neighbors all seemed to have theirs down; no lollipop-bright colors glinted from their windows, no popcicle hues framed their doorways. In some yards, red hearts already flashed their love signals. I could protest, I thought. What would it hurt to keep IT glowing for a few more weeks, even months, maybe the whole year even? Wouldn't it be great to be ready for next Christmas in the middle of June?
My own hopes soared, but custom prevailed. I wrapped little wooden angels in over-and-over-used tissue, carefully slid the German Raucherman into its rippled cardboard box, plucked straw stars off branches, and cradled the nativity figures into soft mounds of cotton batting. Sadness at the finality of it pressed on my shoulders and hands. The living room would never be the same again. My comfortable cat would have to find a new spot to snuggle into; perhaps a new lamp would light the room; maybe friends would view the yard's spring flowers. But I could take the loss, knowing the twinkling would come again, like elves winking in the dark, teasing the ten months of ridiculous gloom away, signaling the renewed warmth of love, of family, of memories, new glow-spots on the beloved triangle of branches, the IT that lifted my spirits year after year, the TREE. mutti
