twenty-six: christmas trees

The day after Thanksgiving has always been dedicated to Christmas decorating in our house. I’ll never forget when I first learned that my Mom’s parents would put their tree up on Christmas Eve and take it down on Boxing Day. Where’s the fun in that? I’m pretty sure that putting up the tree is my favorite part of Christmas. 


My Christmas decorating routine has only varied slightly over the last six years. One year B decorated with me, but mostly it’s something I do while he’s sleeping or at work. I put on the George Winston pandora station and I decorate. Every ornament that we own has meaning. Some from our Weinmachsmarkt adventures, many from our childhoods, some collected more recently. All tell the story of who we were, who we are, and who we are yet to be. 


Ever since I collected this medal last year, I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with it. I don’t keep my bibs, I sleep in my race shirts, and I have no desire to display a rack of medals. Enter the idea to turn them into Christmas ornaments. I loved the idea, so did B. 


As a kid, I had no idea that some people had themed trees. Ours was always themed life. Every ornament was special. My favorite part of decorating now is touching each memory. Turning our medals into ornaments continues that tradition. 

It’s an easy enough process. Cut off the big ribbon and string it on something more befitting an ornament. I used hemp because I have so much of it left over from a failed wreath project. Maybe I’ll try and actually finish that soon. I make no promises. 

So far we have five race ornaments gracing our tree. We’re picky (B is picky) about what races we run. But I’m looking forward to adding to our collection and storing the memories where I can revisit them every holiday season. 

What do you do with your race medals? 

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About texancountess

I find myself in the calming roar of the sea, floating gently on the foam of the breaking waves. Blue. Green. Gray. The colors of the sea mark the boundaries of my soul. The tumbled glass finds its polish under the relentless pounding of the waves upon the shore. Thus am I. Rough transitioning to polish, refinement ever a process, finding my niche in the storms of life.
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