Christmas Trees, Marguerite & Richard

As I put up the Christmas tree this year, hanging bits of pieces of my past, I think of Marguerite & Richard. 

I find a copy of The Night Before Christmas , given to my Alpha Son Nick by Richard's brother Bob that has hung some place on the tree since 1987.  Bob signed his mother Jean's name.  Jeano & Nick share the same birthday. 

And I long to hear someone's voice from the past. I call the number I find, thinking I might get Marguerite & I reach Richard.

I identify myself as Jaki Ettinger. Because I know that one might have many women & many friends with many variations of Jack, itself a derivation of John. 

And because one day, a long day ago, Richard told me that he had always thought I was unique, until he met someone, somewhere, who could be my twin. This removed all pretense I ever had that somehow in our old age, should Marguerite grow weary of Richard or predecease him, I could beat out their friend Janie for rights to succession. 

So I always identify myself when calling the Pulleys. 

Because apparently there are a lot of Jaki Jeans out there. 

Talking to Richard, and later Marguerite, was like coming home. They sound the same – so bright & witty & genuine. 

So much the friends who moved me from outside the Loop to Montrose, within walking distance of their home. 

I tried to explain to both of them why every year, as I put up the tree in which I place so much meaning, they are there, in my mind & in my heart. 

And in every explanation, I found myself inadequate. It is not about the fact that I have, over the years, collected ornaments by Gorham & Reed & Barton & Wedgewood & Waterford & Spode for my sons because I learned to recognize those brands with Marguerite or that I know how to identify an oyster fork because Marguerite showed me Jeano's silver or a really wonderful bargello needlepoint pattern because Richard created it to cover a chair. 

It is about memory & the love memory brings. 

About what my Christmas tree brings. Memories & love. 

Missing you, Maggie & Dick. Maybe next year I will invade your Christmas party.