When we were little, my sister and I each had an ornament of our own that adorned our family's Christmas tree. My sister had a beautiful pink cat. My ornament was a mouse and I called it Mickey. It was not really Mickey Mouse. It looks nothing like Mickey Mouse, in fact. Or a mouse for that matter. As I am writing this, I am starting to wonder if it even is a mouse. I think so.
The ornaments came from my grandfather's store. He normally sold household appliances but every year, after celebrating Saint Nicholas' Eve, he would cover up his storefront windows with paper and spend all night building the most elaborate display of Christmas ornaments, to be reveiled on December 6. He was famous for it, well beyond the neighborhood my mom and her family lived in. I do not know if I ever saw his window displays. If I did, I was too young to remember. My mother has a few pictures but the colors are faded and they do not do my grandfather's creations justice.
I treasure my ornament. Because of its age, and because of its heritage. It always gets a special spot in the tree. And while I would love to have a themed tree from time to time, because of Mickey I never have.
For the second year in a row Mickey is missing from the tree, however. Last year we had just moved into the barn and there really wasn't any room for a tree. Instead I temporarily brought one of our Alberta Spruces inside, pot and all. We decorated it with a homemade cranberries and popcorn garland.
This year I do not have a tree of my own. That's okay. My parents-in-law's tree is beautiful and decorated exclusively with handmade ornaments. Some are very old ornaments made by my father-in-law's sisters. Some were made by my husband and his siblings when they were children. And one was made by Lola and me. Last weekend we created a reindeer from twigs found in the yard (inspired by Jane from Fine Frugal Living). Maybe we can name him Mickey, instead of the obvious Rudolph.
Next year the real Mickey will be back, prominently gracing my tree. I promise!