As I sort through the handmade treasures of today's tree—none made with any great expense but priceless just the same—I find myself face-to-face with a reality. Occasionally I must discard one and I do so with great sorrow. This year I must lay to rest a Mr. and Mrs. Claus I made in Andover, Massachusetts, during the first year of my marriage. We were living on the campus of Phillips Academy where my husband was a teacher in the fine arts program. I was inspired by the creativity that surrounded me and wanted to make an artistic contribution to the holidays.
Mr. and Mrs. Claus are soft-sculpture heads. They were made with two bits of an old piece of nylon stocking. I stuffed each piece with quilting material, and then, using a threaded needle, coaxed up small bulbous portions of the nylon and stuffing from under the surface to create facial features. I then used old scraps of cloth, one of red velvet, to make caps for their heads. Mr. and Mrs. Claus are wise in their expressions as if they know the true meaning of Christmas. So ugly they are charming; it is clear they will not impart their secrets to even the most patient—their mouths are sewn securely shut.
Fourteen years later we now live at Choate Rosemary Hall in Wallingford, Connecticut. The nylon I used to form the heads of the Claus duo has run, the stuffing has come out, and their caps have flattened so severely over the years that the only kind thing to do is to perform a sort of euthanasia. I’ve known this day would come. For several years now as I unpacked them and then packed them up again, I saw their spirits diminish by degrees. Nevertheless, I am sad and can’t quite comfort myself with the rationale that I can make new ones. The new ones will never be the same. They won’t hold for me the same naiveté or freshness they had when I tenderly placed them on the tree my husband and I put up for our first Christmas.
Companion pieces still survive—soft sculpture candy canes, wreaths, and holly leaves—made from patterns out of a women’s magazine I thought I was finally grown-up enough for—one I am now too grown up for. But it is Mr. and Mrs. Claus who will live on in my memory because they were made by my own two hands without a pattern or any instruction in how to make them.
Our tree has many new additions this year, ornaments my son made at day care, his four-year-old hands struggling to make them just right, his pride bursting like a firecracker. My daughter, more sophisticated in her eight-year-old wisdom, made what will be a favorite in years to come—a real sugar cone with a fluff of white polyester stuffing and colored paper “jimmies” glued on. I carefully wrap these wonders up tonight hoping to preserve them for Christmases to come. I know the day will arrive when these, too, will need a final resting place and won’t be on our tree or stored in a box, but safely tucked away with my memories of Mr. and Mrs. Claus.
Author’s note—This story is now 16 years old and so many other handmade ornaments have had to be discarded, it’s hard to remember them all except for what can be seen in the photographs of Christmas trees throughout the years. Do you have a favorite memory of an ornament? Or an ornament of special significance you continue to place on your tree each year? Please share by posting a comment.
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