It was still early summer when it became clear that Christmas wouldn’t be the same this year.  Charlie and Marta wouldn’t be able to come home.  We wouldn’t be having our traditional Christmas party — not a big one ‘nor a small one.  “It’ll be just you ‘n’ me, Babe,” said Nyel.  “Thank goodness for the ‘you’ part!” I thought.

So it was decided.  We’d have just a little tabletop tree and maybe one smallish poinsettia.  But no garlands on the mantles.  No candles in every candlestick and candelabra.  No reason to untangle those Christmas tree lights or get out the wind-up toys.  No garlands of greenery on the mantles.

Just a few of the tiniest ornaments for the little tree and just that little strand of battery-operated twinkly lights that Marta sent one Christmas.  Which meant, of course, getting a couple of big boxes out of the back forty, opening them and then, the hardest part of all — overlooking all our usual Christmas friends.

How can we not have Pinocchio join us for the holidays?  He’s been with us for years and years — ever since the Christmas after Charlie’s first trip to Italy so many years ago.  Never mind that we lost Pinocchio’s short nose and he only has the long, liar’s nose on his smiling face.  How can he not be with us for Christmas?

And what about the Christmas bell from my mother’s childhood?  Or the treetop angel that has graced each tree since I bought her with my very own quarter in 1942.  And what about the lovely cross-stitched hanging that Mary Newell made me in 1992 — the date stitched right on it?  And all of Tucker’s hand-made Christmas cards and ornaments?

So far I am paralyzed by indecision.  Almost.  Pinocchio did sneak up to his usual place on the mantle.  Somehow the Christmas stockings marked with our names have been hung with care.  And Nyel has offered to put Mom’s big red bell up by the Morris chair where it has hung for the last hundred Christmases…

Choosing is so, so hard!