Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

This year, I will celebrate Christmas day alone. Like many other people do.

So I’ve been determined to pick quality merry time in with my friends and on my own. I saw the PSO Holiday Pops, visited the Christmas Village and Belsnickel at Old Economy Village, spent time just doing typical lunches and what not.

Earlier this week, I bought a Christmas Tree and a wreath for the front door. It was an extravagance, but also an investment in myself. The tree is short and fat, tucked into the familiar corner of the living room with the rainbow flag tree shirt.

Today, I put on the lights. Tree lights are my favorite thing. I could sit in the dark and watch them twinkle for hours. Ornaments are a challenge given the circumstances so I hung some stockings with care on the tree, topped it with a pink Santa hat, and called it a day.

After thinking about it, I went up into the attic to dig out my great-grandparents Christmas village house. It dates back to the 1920s or perhaps earlier. It is made of cardboard and wood, with small bits of stained glass windows.

In my father’s childhood, this house and another were part of the Christmas village painstakingly laid out each year. Most of that has been lost over the years, but this tree remains. Typically, I get it out , snap some pics, and put it away.

This year, I decided to leave it out. The fragile animals are protected, of course. But the house is now part of the tree display. Why not enjoy it myself? I’ve done the hours of research about those family members, I’ve read up on Christmas villages and putz houses and all of the context.

These houses are a Pennsylvania Dutch tradition, but I don’t think my ancestors were part of that group. Mostly that branch were from the Baden-Württemberg region which is adjacent to the Palinate regions of the Pennsylvania Dutch. My second great-grandfather was all German second generation, his wife a Scottish immigrant. Their lives were poor and grinding. They moved around Allegheny City often. My 2x great grandfather died in 1902 followed a few years later in 1907 by the oldest daughter, Christina.

It is hard to imagine this house surviving all of that so it is most likely my great-grandfather obtained both houses after he married an third generation Irish-American woman and settled into the upwardly mobile working class life. His brother sold green sawdust all over the East Coast to supplement his living. The sawdust was used for Christmas villages. It is clear that tradition was ingrained in their generation. But how and why are lost to the vagaries of time.

I feel closest to these ancestors, so incorporating the house into my own traditions – my new solo traditions – feels right.

I have so many bits and pieces – a holiday serving dish cast by my grandmother in a pottery class, the carving knife of my great-grandfather, the remnants of their china. I have nothing to carve, but I can at least put it on the table.

This morning, I woke up feeling sad about Christmas Day. I got to work on the chores of the day. Productivity helps to shake the sorrows. I did five loads of laundry, made a casserole, obviously did the Christmas tree bit, and assorted other tasks.

Now, I feel better.

But still alone.