Key Chains, Incense and Myrrh

As children, my parents, specifically my father, was obsessed with all things Christmas. The Christmas Tree and all its trimmings was always put up the Friday after Thanksgiving, a ceremony embraced with joy until my sister and I caught onto the fact we had ungodly amounts of Christmas paraphernalia and that putting it all up took the better part of eight hours. No amount of egg nog or even incense and myrrh could incite me and my sister to grasp Christmas decorating with joy.

My father’s proclivity towards Christmas harnessed itself throughout the year as my father would proclaim to my mother, “Maureen, this would make a fantastic Christmas ornament.”  The definition of fantastic had only two requirements – you could stab it with a hook and it was small enough to somehow fit on the tree.

One year as a child of six, we were vacationing in DisneyWorld, and while sitting down to a meal at Little Mexico in Epcot, my dad snatched the straw toy giraffe from my McMexico meal out of my small chubby fingers. After all, he told my sister and I, they would make fantastic ornaments.

The debris that ended up on our tree created a dazzling sight as our tree tipped more to the right year after year. It was a Chrismukkah miracle that the tree never actually tipped. Towards the end of the tree decorating ceremony, we’d hang each ornament while holding our breath in, waiting for tree to collapse on our Lhaso Apso puppy hanging under the branches. We had wind up toys, childhood art projects, neighborhood children’s art projects, Hallmark ornaments galore, baby’s first Christmas and baby’s 16th Christmas ornaments and ornaments from every place we traveled.

My own adult Christmas proclivities have leaned strongly towards the minimalist side. I only decorate with the lobster my sister gave me. If you don’t recall the meaning of the Christmas lobster, please refer to “Love Actually.” One of the children proudly proclaims to her mother that she plays the part of Lobster number one in the nativity scene. To which her mother responds, “I didn’t realize that there was more than one lobster present at the birth of Baby Jesus.”

And thus, Lobster #1 is my only Christmas decoration.

Until now.

I’ve decided to find an ornament in each city to commemorate the trip. Ornaments seemed the perfect tourist oddity to collect since nothing makes you reconsider big purchases like having to strap your purchases onto your back along with the rest of your belongings for three months.

Someday, I too, will also possess a Christmas tree covered in oddities that tips far more than the law of  gravity realistically allows. My first purchases for this future tree includes a cookie cutter and a key chain. Dad would be proud.