Have you ever thought of something that is so completely obvious, and it has been obvious for quite some time, but for some reason it doesn't really "hit home". Until it does.
And then it really does.
I remembered that I don't have a Christmas stocking. I'm a 46 year old grown woman, preoccupied with raising my own family, with far too many children that all have their stockings hung by the chimney with care. Beautiful hand made stockings, by the way, with intricate detail by my Auntie, as seen above. In fact, I'm sure she sighed with relief when she realized Charlotte was our last baby :)
But my stocking, the one that my Mom hand made for me, with an iron-on Santa, back in the '70's? Like so many others, it was lost in the Santa Rosa fires.
My brother Paul's stocking, that had an upside down felt Santa, with his head at the bottom and his feet at the top, with a bell next to his name, and a coffee stain across the middle of it? No more.
My brother Matt's stocking, which hung in between Paul's and mine, with a bell at the corner of his felt Santa's hat? Also gone.
My Dad's stocking which was decorated with a felt lion, and my mom's stocking, in the shape of a ladies boot lined with sparkly sequins? All gone.
I have known this for over a year. But all of a sudden, it hit me. All five of the stockings that I grew up with, and knew so well, each for it's intricacies and details, are gone.
At Christmas, every time I would travel from the kitchen down the hallway, towards my bedroom, there were our stockings, taped to the wall. Yes, you read that right. Mom taped them to the wall because, well, we didn't have a fireplace. So the hallway wall it was! Yo, Foxy was a problem solver.
Our family also had two (and sometimes three) trees. Don't judge :) The kids tree sat perched in the family room, resting on our orange and brown linoleum floor. We adorned it with school made ornaments, like soldiers with crooked eyeballs, and snowmen with a shit ton of glitter, and threads strung with popcorn and cranberries. It was a sight, and quite beautiful in my eyes.
The tree in the living room (a room designated solely for company), really belonged to my mom. Foxy decorated that tree like it was straight up her job. Our nativity set, had a manger with a roof that was caving in. If Jesus was to be born in a barn, it would definitely have a questionable roof that may or may not make it through Mary's labor, right? Talk about realism! The angel lay on top of the caved in roof, and although as a kid, I would worry the angel might fall through, I was also strangely reassured that she could fly if things went sideways. The manger was lovingly placed at the base of Foxy's tree.
I would lay underneath the tree, next to the manger, looking up through the branches, taking in the fresh pine smell and pastel lights strung up perfectly. To this day, I prefer pastel lights to any other kind; they are calming and comforting.
And every time I passed the stockings taped to the hallway wall, I would tap the bells. Until eventually, the tape would wear loose, and the stockings would need to be secured with yet more tape. Funny thing is, my mom never got frustrated about this. I think she just knew that as kids: we had to tap those bells.
Paul, Matt and I tapped the bells as we made our way to our bedrooms down the hall. We tapped those bells on our way to the kitchen because dinner was ready. I tapped the bells on my way to the garage to put on my soccer cleats for practice. Or on my way out the door, gussied up to go to the Christmas dance with a boy from another school (because teenage girls, you NEVER date someone who goes to your school). Too. Much. Drama.
Those stockings were always there. And now they are not. I have the memories of what each one looked like, and tapping the bells. The fire can't take those memories.
At this point, whether in Santa Rosa, like my dad, down south, or beloved Paradise...we all know someone or someone who knows someone, who has lost everything. So many sentimental trinkets (too many to count), hand made baby blankets, childhood pictures tucked away in a suitcase, and wedding dresses that were being saved for daughters or grand daughters or great grand daughters, all lost in the fires.
And so, this is what I have learned: cherish the small things. remember the good things, and tender memories will replace the lost things, that can no longer be salvaged.
Take care of yourself and your tribe because, in the end, that is all that really matters. That is a sacred, sacred bond.
And, take the time to tap the bells.
