Suburban Chicago, January 1972. My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, takes one last look at the tree before we dismantle it. Taking down the tree—what a drag! We spent hours untangling the lights and shoving the artificial branches into a box. When Mr. Irene and first married, we hated the task so much that every January, we removed only the ornaments. We covered the assembled tree—with the stringed lights still on it—with a king-sized, fitted bed sheet, and we carried the tree to the basement, where it stood, dust free, for eleven months.
Notice the Cyclamen on the coffee table. Our family always had a Cyclamen plant on display during Christmas. My Mom said that the flowers reminded her of her mother, Jadzė.
The mother of my Mom's friend, Donna, stitched the throw pillow in a typical Lithuanian design.
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