That Old Angel

                              "See with the eyes of angels...." -Allen Ginsberg

 That old angel. She is very old. Almost 70 years old..Give or take a few years. She looks pretty good for her age. ...She existed way before I was born. Lived  each Christmas, to be stuffed into a box the rest of the year.

 I couldn't even walk when she sat at the top of my first tree. She smiled at me. I couldn't quite see her. But she was there.Always there.My Bear was not quite as old as her. My dad thought I needed him. I think I needed that Bear just as much. BearBear and that old Angel  competed for my attention.

 I still have that old Bear. He sits  on an ancient chair. He was there when that old Angel, in her tarnished dress, watched me.  That old Angel. My parents used to tell me that she sang when everyone went to sleep. I would lie awake listening. And fall asleep,  probably when she started to sing........I could her her songs in my dreams.

 From grandparents to parents. From age to  age  time rushed forwards.  Her satin dress saw better days. Her face still beautiful and perfect.Her white hair still snowy. Unblemished. That Old Angel .

 This is the last photo I have of my dad before he died in 1968. That Old Angel was at the top of  the tree . Her felt feet sticking out. My mother had her blonde hair done up especially for Christmas. She bought my dad a red satin robe with black trim. He was too sick to move much from his chair. I sat by his chair and held his hand. That Old Angel kept us company. I imagined her singing  to him. In the night. In the quiet. He died a couple of months later.

 Nothing much was said that Christmas of my dad's illness. My mother made it a happy one. There were dolls and toys and carols on the stereo.  I held hands with her too. That Old Angel smiled down at us. 

Then it was just the two of us. A few cats. And that old Angel on top of the tree. As I got older I was fascinated by her.I hadn't heard her sing as much. 

But I did start to wonder if  she could fly. I wondered if she HAD flown when I wasn't around to see. In the night. In the quiet.

 So in the Christmases that followed, I  would carefully climb on a chair, so I could bend the branches to get her off  the tree. Wasn't too hard. She was only tied to the branches with ribbon. Very useful Ribbon. I would use them to fling her around the room and see if she would fly. Mostly she  bopped into the walls. 

That Old Angel ;her head would fall off.  Carefully I would stuff it back on. And replace her on the tree. Hoping my mother did not catch me.

 Years went by , and I no longer tried to make her fly. Sometimes I thought I heard her sing. Her head was flopping around so much, I didn't think she could hit the high notes.  I started to see her  worn and torn. 

1974

 She had seen better days. She had seen it all, That Old Angel.

Fredericton 1994

 And in time she graced the top of our children's tree. I remember stitching a piece of thin lining over her felt feet to cover the dirty dress. Her head still wobbled and bobbled. Duct tape held it in place in the back, so no one could see.

2018

 And  as the years toddled by, I left her to her own devices. Her white yarn  head lolling over her felt body, sometimes with extra pins  holding her together. Plus the duct tape. Always feeling guilty that I had made her head  pop off. She didn't sing anymore. I doubted that she tried to fly on her own.Too risky.Some mornings, her head would be rolling about on the floor.....

St. Albert 1997

  I so wanted to see an angel fly.  I thought I had killed her chances of seeing another seventy years.She was silent now.

  But this year,  I decided she needed a fresh start. I think for years I thought if I gave her a makeover then she would not be the same Angel that my parents knew, or my grandparents knew. But how wrong I was.

White Rock 2000

  I sewed that Old Angel a brand new gold dress with wedding dress lace, polished her french horn, gave her fresh ribbons,and a new ruff and glued her head down into her body. She was always beautiful. But now she is.Once again, she is on the top of the Christmas tree. She seems pleased to be there.. She watches over us. And I believe she has started to sing again. I heard her. Late at night. When all is calm and all is bright. 
   And  I DO wonder, sometimes, if That Old Angel  secretly takes flight when no one is around...I find ribbons scattered here and there....In the night. In the quiet.

 “Why does she have wings?'So she can fly.” 
― Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever

Photographs 2018