Decoration

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON 7th & 8th JANUARY 2007

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I woke up this morning, made a cup of coffee and carried it across to the porch. I bent down and as I picked up the Sunday paper, I saw that Mum had forgotten to put away one of the Christmas decorations: my snowman doormat.

It was my favourite Christmas decoration when I was a child. I still remember the day my father brought it home from work. It was a windy November evening. I was seven years old. My Dad walked into the kitchen, where I was helping Mum lay the table. He pulled something out of a carrier bag. "I picked this up on the way home," he said. "Have a look."

He pulled out what I immediately recognised as a doormat. But for some reason I thought the design on it was one of the prettiest things I'd ever seen.

"Oh, that's sweet," my Mum said, laughing and giving Dad a peck on the cheek.

He chuckled. "It is, isn't it? I thought it would be great for Santa to use when he visits us on Christmas Eve."

I smiled. I think even then I knew that my Dad was just being playful. [How old was I when I stopped believing in Father Christmas? But I digress.]

"He's not going to need a doormat," I said. "He uses the chimney, remember?"

My Dad brought his hands to his open mouth in a gesture of mock horror. "Oh my goodness, so he does! Oh dear!" He looked at my Mum. "Well, I suppose I'll have to take it back then, won't I?"

My Mum nodded. "Yes, I suppose you will."

I giggled and hugged the doormat tight to my chest. "Well... maybe we should keep it, just in case he decides to come throught the door this year?"

My father raised his eyebrows. "Father Christmas coming through the door? I've never heard such nonsense." He shook his head. "No, no, there's nothing for it. It'll have to go back, I'm afraid." He began walking towards me.

I squealed and started backing out of the kitchen. "No, please, please let's keep it. I'll use it, even if Santa doesn't it."

My Dad took a few more steps towards me. I squealed even louder and began running away from him.

We kept the doormat, of course. I don't know why, but I was really taken with it. The snowman on it was certainly very sweet. But he stood on this perfect white hill, which I thought was equally pretty. And the sky above him was blue. And there was a bright sun in a corner, with thick yellow beams streaming out of it.

It all sounds so silly to think of now, but this cheap object - what we'd now call an 'impulse buy', I suppose - became the focus of one of my favourite Christmas rituals.

Every year, when my parents got our Christmad decorations down from our attic, I'd pester them with questions about whether they'd found my snowman doormat. Every year my Dad pretended something had happened to it: it had gone mouldy, or a whole side of it had been ruined by mice or a tin of grey paint had tipped over and spilled its contents all over my snowman with his silly smile. Of course, none of these was ever true.

Year after year, the snoman doormat made it safely to our front door. On Christmas Eve, my Mum would bake some mince pies, and she'd always make some tiny ones especially for my Santa trail. I'd put them all on a tray and walk over to the doormat with them. And I'd leave a long trail of them - Hansel And Gretel style - running from the doormat to our Christmas tree. And sure enough, the next day, all the mini-pies would always be gone and underneath our tree there'd be a stash of presents.

Actually, come to think of it, I said "year after year", but like so many childhood rituals which seem to have gone on for ever and a day, I think it may have happened only three or four times. I certainly have no memory of making a Santa trail when I was 12 or 13. But the doormat itself remained a feature of Christmas until I was... well, until forever, actually.

Christmas just didn't seem like Christmas until the snowman on the hill was safely by our back door. Even when I left home to go to University, I'd telephone home before coming back for the Christmas break and ask if they'd brought the doormat down from the attic. And each time, Dad would try to make up some tall tale.

And when Mum found out I was pregnant, one of the first presents she gave me was the doormat. She had tears in her eyes as she handed it over to me. I started sniffling too. We both laughed and asked each other how it was that we'd become so fond of such a silly little thing.

"Never mind," she said, "the point is that we have. We've got our own little family tradition now, and we should keep it going. So now, every Christmas, you must put the doormat out by your back door and when your baby's old enough to do it himself or herself, you'll make some tiny mince pies and you'll both put together a little Santa trail."

And of course, this was going to be the first Christmas with Jessica. So I'd put the doormat by the door, just as I'd done for the last few years.

And now Mum's forgotten to put it away.

Am I right that according to tradition, if you forget to take down a decoration by the 6th, you've got to leave it in place until next Christmas, otherwise you'll have bad luck?

Is that what happened to us this last year, then? Did I forget to take down my decorations before the 6th last Christmas? Or did I leave one behind and then carelessly put it away afterwards without waiting for next Christmas to come around?

Bad luck?

Maybe I will put the mat away, just to see what else gets thrown at me.