They were gifts I could always count on.

I think I might have met my Aunt Char once when I was real young. Yet, she holds a real presence in my heart. When my sister and I were kids, we knew there was always a package coming from Aunt Char. We would put the wrapped parcel under the tree, proclaiming, “It’s another ornament.” Then we’d go back to snooping at the other gifts.

I thought they were pretty as a young girl. It was fun to see what she had created this year, but how much attention do you give to a tree ornament when there are boxes and bags of fun toys to play with?

Aunt Char’s ornaments weren’t store bought. They were hand-painted. My sister and I would get similar pieces, but there were always subtle differences between them. Something that made each one special.

Years later, after all those toys have broken or been given away, these ornaments are still alive and well. I can’t remember a single other gift I received the Christmas of 1985, but this ornament has graced every tree since then.

I was saddened after the great Christmas tree accident of ’10 to find that this ornament was a casualty. Luckily, the break was clean, and it was easily superglued. She lives on.

The rest of them are just as special. I’m thankful that an aunt who barely knew me put in the time and effort to create such beautiful works of art that make me smile each and every year.

Thanks, Aunt Char. These ornaments are prized and cherished.

I love my Christmas tree. It is one of my absolute most favorite parts of the season. I could spend hours sitting by it, relishing in the smell and soaking in the reflections of the lights off various ornaments and branches. It’s just so purdy.

I have a fond connection with most of my ornaments. There’s usually a memory attached to them. It’s one of my favorite things about unpacking the box of Christmas decorations. I lovingly unwrap each one, remembering the story behind them. (I’ll share more posts and stories about specific ornaments.)

Hanging those ornaments is like a tribute to years past. Remembering Christmas as a child, filled with giddy anticipation. Christmas as a young adult, when the season took on so much more meaning. Christmas as a newly married woman, only a few years ago.

Now that I’m married, the Christmas tree is a shared space with my husband. I love our odd assembling of ornaments collected from two separate lives. Some are store bought, some are handmade. They range from Luke Skywalker to Eeyore. All with a memory.

They’re not all perfect. There’s a section of mostly wooden, hand colored ornaments. Some are colored neatly in the lines, while others are scribbled on furiously. They’re handmade by my nephews and show their growth from year to year. I display them proudly.

There’s the sloppily painted heart that I attempted for Drew and I’s first married Christmas together. I wanted to chronicle our first year together in a unique way. Unfortunately, I lacked time, painting technique and smaller paint brushes. It is what it is.

Some people like a neat, themed tree with color coordinated ornaments and bows. These trees are beautiful and I appreciate the hard work that goes into them. I prefer the mishmash of unmatched ornaments, some even hanging crooked off the branches. The hodgepodge reminds me that life is not always perfect and put together. Some moments are beautifully crafted, while others are weathered by years gone by. Some aren’t very pleasing to the eye but are priceless to the heart.

When it all comes together, it creates something beautiful. I’ll take that over organized and perfect any day.