Pulling out the ornaments is the equivalent of opening a scrapbook spanning 26 years:

• baby’s first Christmas (1982),
• two angels that represent me and Leah–best friends forever in 8th grade (1996),
• ceramic Santa made by grandma (1988ish),
• wooden sled built by grandpa (1992),
• digital image of me and the old roomies (2007).

Past relationships are here too. Ornaments from his mother. A stocking with my name misspelled. Blue balls.

Yes. Blue balls.

My Christmas has always been very red and green and trees and lights. His Christmas was more like Hanukkah. But he has cut down two trees for me, and he deserved a reward. My menorah making attempts were less than dazzling, but the blue balls were just the thing. Granted several broke in the Great Christmas Tree Crash of 2006. And one or two may have fallen victim to the not-so-great attack of our cats 2006 and 2007. And perhaps these events were all not-so-subtle hints by fate that went ignored. Or perhaps these were just part of the scrapbook of ornament memories.

Break ups are complicated. Especially around the holidays. But you know you will be okay when blue balls make you smile with memories of what was instead of crying for what will not be again.