Eisenhardt Bob - Tree of treasures: a life in ornaments

S tarting the year I turned four, a few weeks before Christmas my mother and Aunt Haha took me to Lord & Taylors Trim-a-Tree department in Garden City on Long Island. I loved spending time looking at each themed tree; it was magical.

And then, a few days before Christmas, wed all go to the nursery to choose our trees. Walking together in the freezing cold, we made our selections. From an early age, I learned what the family called thudding, lifting the tree up and down and shaking some branches to see if needles fell off. If they did, we moved on to another tree. The process nurtured both my tree obsession and a tolerance for cold weather, at least during tree shopping.

As Christmas approached wed set up and trim our trees. It was a firm family tradition to decorate on Christmas Eve, when Id unpack our treasures and put them on the table covered with a Christmas tablecloth. After my father carefully put the lights on the tree, my mother created a story with her ornament selections. Little did I know that as I watched my parents, I was training for my future career.

Daddy was a freelance cartoonist, voice impersonator, and ventriloquist, and as a result, everything on our tree would talk to me. The angel would say, Hello, from the top, then complain that the light next to her was the wrong color for her robe: Can it be changed to pink?

However, my cartoon world turned upside when my father developed cancer and died when I was nine years old. The Christmas after he passed away my mother and Aunt Haha took me on my annual visit to Lord & Taylors Trim-a-Tree department, filled with shiny pink boxes of ornaments. It turned out to be my refuge. Now the only Christmas tree in my life was at my grandmothers house. My mothers ornaments were in the attic in boxes; I missed them. The magic was gone.

After my mother got a teaching position in another town, we moved. It was a difficult position for her, a single parent and a teacher in a new town without family support nearby. Our relationship went from being very close to being distant. When I was twelve we made a mutual decision that I would move back to live with my grandmother, Aunt Haha, and Uncle Jim. I lived with them until I went away to college at eighteen.

As I adjusted to a new life, my loving extended family provided stability. It was a consolation to sit in my grandmothers cozy blue brocade stuffed chair looking at the tree, with its decorations placed so beautifully by my aunt. It was my place of comfort and peace. Each ornament was part of my heritage, and had stories to be discovered.

Aunt Haha took such care in making Christmas a memorable occasion. Every year she and my uncle involved me in the selection of the tree. I didnt decorate, but I helped choose the ornaments. The composition varied from year to year; there was variation within the traditions.

Our Christmas tree was my salvation.

Later this passion became my profession as I explored the world, sourcing and designing ornaments for Bloomingdales, and then working with artists and designers to create unique ornaments for MoMA, the Museum of Modern Art. As my love of ornaments dominated my life, so too did my collection grow to reflect my life.

Now, each year in December, I unpack my treasured Christmas ornament collection and take stock. Ive collected almost three thousand ornaments, and am still adding more. I find them everywhere from stores to street fairs, and I receive them as gifts from friends, family, and my husband. They have been both my avocation and my vocation.

To make decorating easier, I divide my tree into a range of sixty-seven ornament classifications, from ornaments that represent my mother; to traditional Christmas symbols, such as Santas and Wise Men; to animals including rabbits, bears, cats, and boars; to more unusual groupings, such as message ornaments and ornaments that celebrate Rabbits and Royals.

In 2012, my tree and its ornaments were photographed by the New York Times for the front page of the Home section. Little did I know that my trees strong branches would be seen all over the world.

On the tree I see my life unfold. In my home in upstate New York, where my magnificent tree dominates the living room, too big to fit in any corner, I am transported back to my special spot in my Grandmother Mackays bentwood mahogany childrens chair, from which I observed the Christmas preparations.

Each year we select a tree, bring it home, and place it in the stand. I walk around it to observe its structure and pat its branches. Then I sit back. No year is the same. My husband, Bob, and I have experienced fallen, dried-out, and oversized trees; blizzards with power outages; tree-setup-deadline meltdowns; plus breakage of my bones, and those of some of my treasures. And yet when we sit down together to look at the tree, we always think it is the best ever!

Each one of my treasured pieces represents a passage in my life: the story of a family member, the history of my friends, my pets, and so much more. I see their faces in each one, which is why at the end of every holiday season even broken elephants, reindeer, and angels are wrapped up and put safely away. They are so much more than mere decoration, and will never be discarded. In my own way I am painting a Christmas canvas with color, materials, and most important, stories. I sense that this is a universal experience; when you observe your tree, each orna

ment prompts introspection: Who gave it to you? Where did you find it? How old were you at the time you bought or received it? And the longer you look at your decorated tree, the more your story reveals itself.