THE GREEN FELT BIRD

I finished putting up all my Christmas decorations – it took three days, 16 Diet Cokes and only one emergency trip to Michael’s. I have not worn makeup or anything nicer than my fat-girl sweats for the past three days. Whew.

Putting all our ornaments on the tree was quite a feat and made me think about the fact that every ornament has a story. Probably the most interesting/pitiful/tragic story on my tree is the gaudy green felt bird decked in sequins and gold trim. It was my Grandma’s.

When my Grandma died several years after my Grandpa, the family had to clear out their house. Walking through during the clean out, I noticed that all of my Grandma’s ornate green felt birds had been thrown in the trash. These weren’t just any felt birds – these were the birds that had hung on my Grandma’s tree for as long as I could remember. Yes, the tree looked a bit odd covered in only strange green felt birds, but it is what I remember of their tree on so many Christmas Eves.

“Why are we throwing out all the green felt birds?” I asked my mom, who was busy sorting through another drawer of paper scraps (Having grown up during the Depression, my Grandpa always ripped the fronts off Christmas cards and used the back sides for scratch paper. He also tore napkins into fourths – which doesn’t sound so weird to me anymore thanks to the current economic climate.)

“Oh, Laura,” my mom said with a sigh and a laugh.

“What??” I demanded.

She went on to tell me that the tacky – but special – green felt birds that brought me warm memories of the family gathered around the piano on Christmas Eve at my grandparents were made by my Grandma when she was locked in a psychiatric hospital. Nice.

I’ve known for a long time that my family has a long, proud history of depression and an array of other anxiety related disorders. But really? She made the birds in art therapy at Timberlawn? And THEN, she hung them on her Christmas tree every year?? How could decorating her tree every year been anything but, well, depressing?

I did pull one of those birds out of the trash, and I hang it on my tree every year. We’re all kind of a mess, aren’t we? And our Christmas trees do kind of tell the story of our lives, warts and all.

Besides, I Christmas-crafted my way through a depression once. It was year one of going through my divorce, and I worked like crazy on Cole’s Christmas stocking. It’s a traditional red velvet stocking with sequined figures, including a snowman, football and train.

I do laugh and roll my eyes when I hang it up every year. It’s too darn cute to throw away for the sake of not having an oh-how-I-hated-my-life flashback. Maybe that’s how my Grandma felt – but seriously, these birds are ugly.