Dark and Dreary
I am wearied from the chore of removing all the ornaments, garland, lights, as well as the tree topper star from the Christmas tree. After, I lugged down all of the bins down from an empty upstairs bedroom, I spread the empty boxes out on a folding table and the sofa. Then I tried to match the specific container with its usual storage space. This year, I tried to be more specific storing them, separating my older ornaments from the “soft” and homemade ones from the granddaughters and the ones given to my wife, Cindy as a teacher from her students over the years.
Only taking an occasional break to watch television, sit, sort, and store various screws and nails into proper receptacles, I spent most of the day tucking Christmas decorations away for another year. The artificial tree limbs were wrapped, tied, and stacked inside of its bathtub sized storage bin. I toted it upstairs and placed in one of my unused bedrooms. It felt almost like dragging a heavy human body to the second story. Smaller bins soon followed. The last traces of the yuletide holiday disappeared into the vacuum cleaner.
I’m sitting in my recliner, staring at the spot vacated by the tree holds an old rocking chair, one I bought for Cindy. Its frame was constructed by the Amish from bent Mountain Laurel. The seat and back of the rocker were made from steam-shaped oak slats. As a girl, she grew up sitting in ones like it on Camp Christian’s Millhouse porch. The bright lights and sparkling of ornaments have given way to the dim memories of the past.