As the inimitable editor-in-chief of American Vogue Diana Vreeland once declared, “Too much good taste can be boring”. Never has this been truer than when it comes to Christmas and decorating for the holidays. After all, what could be more important than making Christmas your own? From the gaudy green tinsel wreath that adorns our door and the paper chains handmade by the children strewn across the ceilings, to the festive cloth napkins passed down from my mother, each element tells a story of Christmasses gone and, together, of what makes up Christmas this year.
Nothing embodies this spirit quite like bringing the tree home and unearthing the boxes of Christmas tree decorations. The very best Christmas tradition of all. Opening those boxes is, without fail, like stepping back in time and being presented with a visual history of what has build this family. Inevitably one of two of the fancy glass baubles will have broken, but amongst the shards lie nestled a hundred different memories.
The red glittering cardinals, a gift from my mother when I lived in London, and the small felt Bermuda cottages, pink with green shutters like our own home, lend the tree a uniquely Bermudian Christmas spirit. Others remind me of where I was when I bought them – on holiday in the Highlands of Scotland when I came across the large gold pears, and browsing Columbia Road Flower Market in London’s East End when I found the beautiful silk carousel horses (I seem to remember also picking up a tree that day and dragging it home across the city on the tube). Tasteful pieces such as these are interspersed with plastic sweets that sing with stripy wrappers in blue, pink and orange, alongside an eclectic mix of vintage decorations picked up at thrift stores over the years. Classic and kitsch are interspersed, as discreetly as the children will allow, with a selection of decorations handmade by them over the years, including a chorus of ballerinas made out of popsicle sticks, cupcake wrappers and wool during a particularly quiet festive season in the time of one of the pandemic lockdowns.
Each year brings a new addition. Most recent is a handful of Mexican folk art tin decorations coated in bright enamel colours, a gift from brother who was living in Mexico City at the time. Others celebrate my eldest daughter’s birth, born two weeks before Christmas over a decade ago now. Her birthday continues to mark the arrival of the tree in our house – always after her birthday, not only to let her day shine, but also to ensure that in Bermuda’s temperate winter the pines stay as fresh as possible for the big day.
Every year a panic ensues that there will not be enough trees to go round and each year a plethora is available. Such is island life.
The finishing touch? My most favourite of all, a felt effigy of Suffragette leader Emmeline Pankhurst given to me by a good friend many years ago. It wouldn’t be Christmas without her.
As for the top, it is tied with a large ribbon, the bow wrapping the tree up much like the presents beneath it. The one I most look forward to opening is always from my godmother, who, for many years, has given me, and each one of her godchildren, a beautifully selected ornament each Christmas. Opening that gift is always a highlight, knowing that whatever lies inside will add to our story and mark another year.
