Total Tree-call

They say that people will slowly forget a museum experience within six months; that's why I believe that the things people pick up in gift shops are important, not that they hold memories, of course, but may trigger memories of an experience. And if someone goes to the expense of acquiring something that is a reminder of something they have liked, that's a real win for any institution as it is a signal that they have inspired someone with their programming.

It's not just Museum store items that trigger memories; there are all sorts of things that are either acquired or given as gifts that are even more powerful memory triggers.

One of the most packed is an engagement ring, because after all, what is the first question people ask when they see one. "How did they ask"? The jewelry becomes a touchstone to recall an emotional story.

I considered this idea of memory triggers as I was packing up my Christmas tree for the year. As I took each ornament off the tree to wrap up, I recalled where I got them or who gave them to me. Conversely, when I took them out in November, I was excited; it was as if I were meeting old friends somehow, and just where I left them, there is a sense of security and reassurance that some things don't change much. Of course, not all of them trigger memories, and when they do, they are not always profound, "remember when we bought these for cheap at Target after the holidays." Some are rejected and will never make it on the tree, but I still don't dare to toss them out because even those have a place in the yearly ritual.

I was also reminded of ornaments on my mother's tree that I could not see this year because of the pandemic. She brought one from the Azores when she came to this country that everyone in my immediate family treats like the Hope diamond. It's not much of anything really, a thin hollow plastic Santa, the plastic has turned kind of orange over the years, and there is little hand painting for the white in the beard. He is carrying a sack of toys in the back, most of which are ambiguous blobs, but you can see a doll whose eyes are painted in two dots of black. Yes, this ornament is a little creepy, but we love it, and it always gets a special place on the tree from whoever digs it out of the box first.

In packing up, I also across some ornaments that I created for the Gardner, one of Isabella Stewart Gardner herself resplendent in her pearls and rubies, as seen in the iconic portrait that Sargent painted for her. There is also a version of her inspired by Anders Zorn's painting and a few others made exclusively for the Museum.

And for all of you that have gotten this far in my little sentimental journey, I will give you a hint of some ornaments that we are in production for PEM. I can't reveal the subject yet, but I will say this, the inspiration for them would for sure hang out with Isabella if they could be together. So check in late spring for the big reveal.

This past season, the PEM shop carried ornaments by Stephen Brown of Glitterville. Stephens's work is just what everyone needed; it's all about smiles, color, and celebration. Particularly after the year we have had, those little brightly colored things mean more to me than at any other time.

So with a bit of sadness, I looked down in the box, seeing the ornaments layered between fabrics to not suffer damage when they go into storage; I can't help but wonder, where will we be when this box is opened again, will everyone be ok, and also, will I even be the one to open it?

And then I catch myself and put my maudlin thoughts in check because we could be in a better place, one of celebration where we can be in each other's homes again, where we are not decorating a tree to help get through a dark time but to celebrate with others and find joy. And the memory that I will try to hang on to from this dark time is precisely the feeling of being separated from loved ones and the despair that sometimes went along with it. I need to hang on to those emotions, not because some sort of Catholic need to suffer, but so I will never again take for granted all the moments that all these things represent.

Because it's not about the tree or the ornaments, the objects are just visual cues, bookmarks for the brain that open up to specific moments in time.

So with that in mind, I close up the box not with dramatic ennui, but with anticipation of being in a better place when I open it again in ten months, something to look forward to, which somehow makes things not seem so bad.