The Christmas Tree Brooch

Memories of my grandparents, vintage jewelry, and Lifesaver Sweet Storybooks

My grandparents with my sister, myself and the top of my brother’s head.

I own it now, my grandmother’s Christmas Tree Brooch. It is a golden Christmas tree with jewel-colored stones on each branch to signify ornaments. I pin it onto my black sweater, the one with the tiny hearts scattered all over, and wear it on Christmas Eve. The brooch is enchanted, and it feels as if I am pinning my childhood memories of grandmother on my chest, over my heart.

My grandmother always wore the brooch on her “good” coat when we accompanied her and my grandfather to Christmas Eve Mass. The coat was sage green, wool, and always smelled of my grandparents’ cedar-lined closets with a slight whiff of my grandfather’s cigars threaded through the fabric. Was the cigar smell from the house? Where the cedar-lined closets could never compete against the cigar smoke that my grandfather would blow into rings for our entertainment and delight? Or was the cigar smell simply from my grandfather's physical presence as he and my grandmother drove to our house, in the burgundy Cadillac with the pristine white seats, my grandfather in his camel-colored coat and brown fedora with my grandmother beside him with her Christmas tree pin sparkling in the headlights of oncoming cars as they made their way to us, their only grandchildren and their entire reason for living.

The Cadillac, its finish as shiny and unblemished as the day my grandfather bought it, made its way to our house every other Christmas Eve with its trunk stuffed to bursting with toys and Lifesaver Sweet Storybooks that were filled with rolls of candy that matched the jewels on my grandmother's Christmas Tree Brooch.

My sisters, brother and I would excitedly wait to see the headlights shine into the living room’s large, picture window as my grandfather’s car swung into the driveway, sending us running to wait in in the long hallway for my grandparents, laden with gifts and treats. It was almost better than waiting for Santa.

Once they got in the door, we rushed forward into their outstretched arms, into the snow and cedar and smoke scented wool of their coats. Our grandmother’s Christmas Tree brooch would often catch on to our hair, pulling a few strands of hair out of our ponytail elastics. Our grandmother would pull away, tucking our loose strands behind our ears with her soft fingers. Christmas had finally begun.

Me s, wearing my grandmother’s brooch.

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Wishing you a very Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. Thank you for being here.