mittens

My dad loved Christmas. He was the one who decorated the Christmas tree. Back in the day when you could buy an artificial tree but the tree had no lights, Dad would put string after string of lights on the tree. He was very meticulous, weaving the lights around each branch and then stepping back to make sure there were no empty spaces. This took all afternoon. The next day he placed the ornaments on the tree. Smaller ones at the top and then worked his way around the tree. Day three of decorating, he set up his Lionel trains around the tree. What fun to put that smoke pellet in the engine and watch it chug around the tree! He also had a cargo car that when it passed a switch, we could make it dump its barrels. I always think of my dad as I decorate my Christmas tree.

My dad was born and raised in Chicago and Chicago's winters are brutally cold. That wind whips off of Lake Michigan and brrrrrrrr. Bundling up is necessary to survive the bitterly cold temperatures. Many years ago my mom and I were going through some of Dad's things after he died and she showed me a pair of mittens that he wore as a young boy. "Try them on. Your dad's fingers never got cold with these." 

One year my Christmas tree topper bit the dust. It was an angel that I had cross-stitched, it got discolored by mildew, so I pitched it. I don't know what made me think of using one of Dad's mittens, but "The Hand of Howie" has looked over us for many Christmases. Sometimes I wave as I look at the tree, "Hi, Dad, Merry Christmas," but one thing is for sure, that mitten always brings a smile.