My grandma always called Memorial Day by its old name…decoration day. It was a day set aside to decorate the graves of soldiers with flowers and to honor their memories. Eventually, decoration day became Memorial Day. She was adamant about honoring family with artificial flowers.

My decoration day celebration, however, is always the 48 hours after the Thanksgiving meal, No sooner than plates have been cleared, I am on a ladder decorating my parent’s Christmas tree with ornaments representing their life together. I love hiding the ugly, ancient bird that was passed down from my great grandmother. I reverently hand the teardrop ornaments purchased when mom and dad were first married. Artfully placing a lifetime of memories takes awhile.

The next day, after our drive home, decoration day swings into full gear.

All in all, I put up five trees, a full Christmas village, greenery, centerpieces, and numerous Christmas Santa’s. Excessive but not yet obsessive. Each piece a memory. A decorative display of love.

On the smallest tree, are memories of my childhood. There are crocheted socks and other ornaments made by my grandmothers. Tiny red velvet bells pinched onto branches sit exactly tilted as they did on grandma’s tiny tree. Some of the ornaments were ugly even then, but are now extra special. I remember grandma laughing when the misshapen felt snoopy that she attempted to sew was put on the tree. He gets a special branch just because he makes me smile as I remember how her whole body shook when she laughed. I also cherish tarnished jingle bells with colorful ribbon. I made them for grandma the year she wanted new ornaments but couldn’t really afford them. We bought a card of cheap small bells and pink ribbon at the dime store. I spent the whole afternoon making ornaments of bells. Only two remain, but the memories live on.

The tree also has several ornaments we received as teachers. My husband and I each are proclaimed world’s greatest teacher on brass ornaments nestled between branches. Since he stayed in the classroom almost 40 years, I will cede to him.

Upstairs, in our bedroom, I have a tree that belonged to my uncle Loyd. It is a small tree that is attached to a nativity. It has a collector’s certificate of authenticity and hundreds of ceramic pieces. Each year, I wonder if I have the patience to put it up and each year I think of the look on his face when I brought him a small gift. His only son died from childhood leukemia when I was just an infant. I know Christmas was hard for him. But I also remember his crooked smile each time he opened whatever token I offered. Each time I put up that tree, I see Loyd and my Dad driving around the neighborhood on Christmas Eve in a golf cart wearing Santa hats. Partners in mischief. Brothers with a more than special bond.

In the living room, things are a bit more formal. Antiques and heirlooms (at least to me). On the mantel sits the Christmas village. Grandma used to fill her tiny living room with a village that grandpa called “Marquand” after a small nearby town. When there was literally no more room for people to sit, she began to buy houses for me. “For your hope chest”, she would whisper. I hope she knows how often I think of her.

On the armoire, an army of nutcrackers stand at attention. Each a gift to our son across 20 years of Christmas. He used to love the soldiers, bakers, ball players, pirates, and other oddities. The idea was that he would have then to decorate his own home with memories of special holidays. However, my bachelor son says he doesn’t have room in his apartment and prefers they stay here in their usual place…waiting for his Christmas homecoming.

The side table is home to a herd of camels in search of a star. They have wondered from all over the Earth. A dear friend gifted a camel she had loved as a child growing up in Somalia. A caravan of camels were a gift to me as a child from my uncle Bob, serving in Turkey. I picked up two camels made from leather while in Fez, Morocco. My little caravan has traveled the world looking for the manger sitting across my living room.

The largest tree is filled with antique glass. Most are gifts from my mom. Santa’s and angels in colorful, delicate shells. There are long glass icicles that we purchased from a small town vender on cold night Christmas market. Several ornaments have unknown provenance. They have always been, a constant in my holiday memory. I suppose they must have belonged to someone first, probably gifted to me. This year, as I unpacked a long used apple crate (I have stored ornaments in it for 40+ years), I noticed my grandma’s handwriting. The note said to “use the ornaments and if I can’t store them to bring them to my shed. Love grandma.”

I remember getting that box. Grandpa was proudly holding a tree he cut. It was really just one skinny branch that could only hold one ornament out of the box. A Charlie Brown tree, cut with love. The ornaments now grace a 7 foot tree, but I would trade it all just to see my grandparents smile the way they did that day. Decoration day is full of remembrance.

The family room tree is full of family memories. Happy meal Dalmatians from the endless trips to McDonalds to get “the right” dog ornament. Dinosaurs and soccer balls. An ornament from each year of our life together. Early ornaments from wal-mart just have a year and some sappy, hugging snowmen. Baby years ornaments have diaper pins and buggies. Eventually, I began picking up an ornament from each of our travels. An Alaskan moose, a surfing Santa, an Irish leprechaun, and most recently a koala… all part of the eclectic representation of our family. Our pets are memorialized, as well as our hobbies. When I look at the tree, I am reminded of an amazing simple life.

Decoration day is exhausting. I am tired physically from the work. It also can be emotionally tiring. It is just the two of us in the house. So many of our family members have passed on or live far afield. But the memories are of happy days and more love than anyone deserves. Decoration day is an important tradition, a connection to the past and a projection to the future. As long as the decorations go up, I will remember and give thanks. Each night I take time to notice a memory as I impatiently wait for the family to be together to make new ones.