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Y GRANDMOTHER was an extremely talented crafter. She sewed, did needlepoint, painted. She died more than a decade ago, but each Christmas, her handiwork still decorates my Christmas tree.
But my favorite ornament from Nana isn't one she made.
It looks sort of like a sunburned gingerbread man, with red yarn hair, and white gloves and boots.
Each year my mother chastises me, saying, "with all the beautiful ornaments Nana made, I can't believe you like that one best."
I got him when I was about 5; my sister got his mate, a similarly adorned girl ornament.
I loved him instantly.
Now, almost 30 years later, my parents save him out each year and let me hang him on a prominent tree branch.
When I was little, I guess I just thought he was funny. Now, he reminds me of the purity of Christmases past, of my grandmother, of the special way the holiday should make you feel.
My mom tried to give the little man to me a couple years ago, to hang on my tree, but I insisted he stay on theirs.
For me, Christmas wouldn't feel the same without him.
--Laura L. Hutchison, editor
We were married 40 years ago today. Sadly, Andy got to celebrate only 19 of those anniversaries. He died suddenly in May 1984.
But he's here in spirit, every Christmas, when I unwrap the little wooden sailor from its place among the tree ornaments. The sailor's happy smile and confident step evoke memories of my husband, glasses pushed up on his head, attired in a paint-smeared sweatshirt, as he whittled away at the little wooden figures he loved to make.
He had a workshop down in the basement where he'd sit for hours, listening to "All Things Considered" on NPR or "Wild Kingdom" on TV while he carved, then painted his creations.
He got ideas for his figures from all sorts of places. We'd go to craft shows and see what other people had done. The mail-order catalogs were full of inspiration. Andy would look at what others had done, then change the original into his own design. The little sailor is a variation on a flat painted ornament cut out of plywood. Andy's is three-dimensional, brimming with personality.
Some of his ornaments decorate his children's trees. But I have kept the cheerful little wooden sailor, and a heart full of memories. Happy anniversary, sweetheart.
--Lucia Anderson
Our fourth child died during pregnancy in May 1990.
There would be no new baby that Christmas. Nor would there be a fourth "Baby's First Christmas" ornament to hang beside similar decorations commemorating the births of our three living children. And yet, we couldn't let the season pass without some sort of talisman to remember our little son.
With my husband in college, money was too tight to purchase anything elaborate.
Finally, only a few days before Christmas, we found a rack of shiny, flat, gold ornaments at a discount store. Santas and snowmen, trains and Christmas trees, all with space for engraving. The ornaments cost only $1.78. The engraving was free.
We chose a white rocking horse and, our voices still heavy with sadness, asked the saleslady to inscribe our little boy's name.
The ornament didn't turn out quite like we'd planned. Instead of neat script, the lettering was tentative, shaky and off-center. But, it didn't matter. To us, the symbol of our baby was beautiful.
The rocking horse has adorned our Christmas tree every year since then, a golden guarantee that a child born too soon will never be forgotten.
--Marcia Armstrong
I'd like to say that my favorite Christmas ornament is a handmade treasure, an exotic prize from a faraway place or a gem handed down for generations.
I'd like to, but I can't.
In truth, my most beloved ornament is a 2-year-old store-bought bauble made right here in the good old United States.
She's a little pregnant snowwoman, who holds a little fluffy ice cream cone with a little pointy pickle on top. She wears one of those tacky T-shirts announcing there's a baby onboard, along with a big wide grin.
I wouldn't be caught dead--much less pregnant--in one of those shirts. And the thought of mixing ice cream and pickles turned my stomach even when I was with child.
But I bonded instantly with my perpetually pregnant snowwoman the year my mother gave her to me.
Thank goodness I no longer haul around her same swollen belly. But our sprawling smiles are still a perfect match each year when I pull off her tissue-paper wrap and show her to my son.
--Lisa Chinn
My grandfather brought him home from Oliver's Store in the early 1950s, in Pine Level, N.C.
Elroy Davis died in 1964 and I never met him, but this Christmas purchase in a town that still has fewer than 1,500 people reminds me of him.
He's a plastic Santa Claus, all Thomas Nast-inspired with thick middle and round cheeks and smiling face. Santa is hollow, and there's a light bulb in his center, so he glows red at nighttime. He holds a little, green plastic tree.
The tree was lost for a couple of years, my dad told me. They replaced it with a green bulb. But then it was found.
His price is still written in pencil on his left boot--$1.39. Miraculously, it hasn't faded in half a century.
My dad, born about the same time Santa came into the family, used to be in charge of bringing him out the week before Christmas each year. The decoration stood on the family's den table.
It belongs to him, now, has belonged to him since my childhood. He stands on a tall stereo speaker.
My dad says he can't remember a holiday without him. Neither can I.
--Kristin Davis
I've always enjoyed gifts of photographs. In recent years, I've also tried to give family members personal Christmas ornaments.
Three years ago, when my first grandchild was born, I started combining the two. I made ornaments with Emily's picture on them for everyone in the family.
Then my grandson, Tyler, came along this summer. When I looked at his chubby cheeks and blue eyes, I saw his father, all over again.
I remembered a photo of his daddy--my son, Jason--taken before Jason's first Christmas. The pudgy fella wore a Santa cap and a red sleeper.
I thought I'd dress Tyler the same for a portrait, then put the two photos, side by side, on an ornament. My graphics design friend at the office, Scott Carmine, put the elements together for me.
I made copies for family members and had the ornaments laminated, so they'll still look good when Tyler is a grandpa.
I've caught myself looking at "Our little Santas" often. I know that any two round-headed babies, dressed in Santa outfits, would look a little bit alike. But you've got to admit, these are two of the cutest babies you've ever seen!
--Cathy Dyson
I was, by far, neither the first nor the last 4-year-old to painstakingly glue noodles to a piece of cardboard, tie on some string and hang it on the Christmas tree.
I was, however, the first one in my family to do it, which is why this ornament is special. It's a typical case of parents finding sentimental value in artwork their child makes out of junk.
The bell has held up surprisingly well these last 20 years. Most of the macaroni still maintains a tenuous hold to the blobs of petrified Elmer's glue, and the gold spray paint has lost only a little bit of its luster.
The bell is my favorite of three ornaments I made in preschool that year, all of them equally treasured by my family. The second is a Christmas tree picture frame constructed from tongue depressors and painted green. A cardboard circle covered with foil and adorned with a big glitter "E" rounds out the collection.
Tradition is very important to me--especially around Christmas--and hanging these ornaments on my parents' tree every year always evokes happy memories of Christmases past.
It's comforting to see them in the Christmas box year after year, although I can't fathom how two decades could possibly have passed since I made them.
--Emily Gilmore
The miniature Christmas wreath hangs at my window instead of on the decorated tree in our family living room.
The delicate smocked cotton ornament takes me back to a beloved time in my life when I carpooled two elementary school-age daughters and chased after an inquisitive toddler.
At night, after they were bundled snugly in bed, I relaxed with my needlework. I learned the art of English smocking when my youngest was born. I was fascinated by the designs I could create on pre-gathered material--ballet shoes, bunnies and Teddy bears.
For years, I would sew into the wee hours of the morning so my daughters had new dresses for Christmas.
The girls seemed almost as excited as their mother. They'd twirl around in their frilly gathered frocks and recite their long Christmas wish lists, sure they'd make a lasting impression with the big man in the red suit.
It's been years since I've laid eyes on those dresses. They're folded in tissue paper and tucked in a storage trunk for a new generation to come.
But every Christmas, I relive those days momentarily when I unpack the holiday ornaments and hang the delicate smocked wreath on the window sill.
--Marty Morrison
It was supposed to be a fun little Christmas project for the children, and indeed it was. For about 15 minutes.
They were ages 7, 6 and 4 back in 1993, and I'd gathered them around the kitchen counter, covered them in paint smocks, set out brushes and paints.
"We're making reindeer ornaments out of clothespins!" I exclaimed. "All of your teachers and your aunts and uncles will love them!"
The little dears dutifully painted clothespins and we used a glue gun to stick three together for each reindeer.
We glued on googly eyes, red pompon noses, white pompon tails and wrapped green pipe cleaner scarves around reindeer necks. We added a twist of star-studded wire for hanging.
And then, one by one, the elves abandoned the workshop. They'd each made one reindeer. But there were dozens more clothespins left on the counter waiting to be painted and glued and transformed into reindeer. I'd thought we'd create a whole herd of reindeer to be given as gifts.
Silly me.
But I was determined, so I continued making reindeer, coaxing a little help from the children now and then. I probably made two or three dozen more, and we gave them to teachers and relatives and grown-up friends.
And there were lots left over. Every Christmas when they go on our tree I admire the craftsmanship and chuckle over what I inscribed on the back:
"Created by Taylor, Gordon, and Katie, 1993."
I still love those little reindeer.
--Susan Neal
