Every year, two weeks before Christmas, it’s my family’s tradition to get together and put up our Christmas tree in the living room after supper. After haggling over the lights and various other ornaments that are placed on our tree that particular year, it’s time for the most important part of the tree, the angel topper.
My brother, Dad and I gather around my Mom as she carefully lifts the angel out of the box and gently unwraps it from the obscene amount of bubble wrap and tissue paper that protect the fragile angel. She gently hands it to me and I pass it to my brother who gives it to my Dad who stands on a chair and hoists the angel to the top of the tree where she will remain until after Christmas.
Our angel is very old and has been passed from my great-grandmother to my grandma and finally to my mom. The wings are white ceramic and very detailed. Through the years the angel has managed to somehow avoid major falls, and only has one small chip on the left wing right at the tip. On top of the ceramic wings there are downy, pure white feathers that add softness to the cold and hardness of the ceramic. Her face is a creamy ivory with a perfect little nose and rosy cheeks and lips. Her eyes are closed and her dainty hands held together in front of her body in a praying position. A slight smile plays about her lips almost giving her a look of hopefulness or waiting for something great to come. From her dress stream four lengths of sheer white fabric that trail down about six inches longer than the hem of her dress.
The angel forms a lovely aura over our adorned tree. Without this angel it just wouldn’t be Christmas. After we are finished decorating the tree and the angel has been placed at the top, we all stand back and observe our work. The angel is always what attracts my attention and every year it seems as if I notice some new detail about it that I had never before noticed. Without this angel, our tree just wouldn’t be complete.
My brother, Dad and I gather around my Mom as she carefully lifts the angel out of the box and gently unwraps it from the obscene amount of bubble wrap and tissue paper that protect the fragile angel. She gently hands it to me and I pass it to my brother who gives it to my Dad who stands on a chair and hoists the angel to the top of the tree where she will remain until after Christmas.
Our angel is very old and has been passed from my great-grandmother to my grandma and finally to my mom. The wings are white ceramic and very detailed. Through the years the angel has managed to somehow avoid major falls, and only has one small chip on the left wing right at the tip. On top of the ceramic wings there are downy, pure white feathers that add softness to the cold and hardness of the ceramic. Her face is a creamy ivory with a perfect little nose and rosy cheeks and lips. Her eyes are closed and her dainty hands held together in front of her body in a praying position. A slight smile plays about her lips almost giving her a look of hopefulness or waiting for something great to come. From her dress stream four lengths of sheer white fabric that trail down about six inches longer than the hem of her dress.
The angel forms a lovely aura over our adorned tree. Without this angel it just wouldn’t be Christmas. After we are finished decorating the tree and the angel has been placed at the top, we all stand back and observe our work. The angel is always what attracts my attention and every year it seems as if I notice some new detail about it that I had never before noticed. Without this angel, our tree just wouldn’t be complete.
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