Once Upon a Poinsettia

Amidst December’s chill, Poinsettias bring warmth and a celebratory glow into our sometimes dreary winter days. During the holiday season, their petals spread festive cheer, symbolizing hope, faith, and joy. For many, they are part of a colorful Christmas decorating tradition, one my family embraced every holiday season.

It seems as if Mother instinctively knew when the decorative Poinsettias would arrive at the local flower market. Off she’d go with me in tow in search of the perfect Poinsettias to adorn our home.

I bundled up, slipping into my winter coat, woolen cap, and mittens, and headed outside. The icy snow crackled under my feet as we trekked our way downtown, with me pulling my brother’s wagon behind me.

Our breath rose in visible puffs. Rosy-cheeked, we quickened our pace to keep warm, pulling our woolen caps over our reddened ears and tightening our scarves around our necks.

I paused, lifting my head into the wind, and widened my eyes, noticing that the wintry trees stood like ballet dancers, their bare arms gracefully swaying in the wind. Under the dove-gray sky, the world around me donned its winter coat; and the snow made the familiar streets a canvas for my imagination and Christmas dreams.

“Stop your dawdling!” Mother scolded, interrupting my fanciful thoughts.

We approached the flower market and abruptly stopped, filled with euphoric-like wonder. Before our eyes was a breathtaking yuletide display of a variety of Poinsettias, soft and lush in the morning’s subtle glow.

Some were bright red with yellow centers; others were creamy white. Some were light pink with dark pink centers, while others had red streaks and white leaves that reminded me of holiday peppermint sticks.

“Look!” Mother said, pointing at a sign. “Poinsettias are on a special today — two for the price of one. We should’ve brought another wagon!”

I followed her, watching as she circled around the display several times to contemplate which ones to select.

Bewildered at the array of choices, she asked me, “Which one catches your eye? You pick the first one.”

“I like the one that looks like peppermint,” I answered.

“Me too!” she said, delight ringing in her voice. She carefully placed it in the wagon, then continued walking around the display, choosing others one by one until she’d gathered her usual ten.

The clerk noticed Mother’s choices as she rang us up. “The yellow Poinsettia center reminds me of the Star of Bethlehem — it led the wise men to the manger where baby Jesus laid,” she told her.

“You know, I’d never thought of that,” Mother replied, casting her eyes onto the Poinsettia-filled wagon.

Merry Christmas!” The clerk beamed as we turned around to leave the flower market and head home.

Back home, Mother placed six of her Poinsettias underneath the Christmas tree, accenting the pile of presents. The remaining Poinsettias were strategically stowed about the house — two next to the fireplace adding a pop of color; another as a centerpiece for the dining room table.

The last one she laid on the living room coffee table, then added a few holiday knick-knacks, holly, and taper candles around it.

“Wah-la!” she exclaimed, stepping back and admiring her work.

Such was the holiday tradition until we children left home. After which, Mother began a new tradition. In lieu of her Poinsettia plants, she crafted an exquisite Poinsettia quilt; when the holiday season arrived, she carefully retrieved it from her cedar chest and placed it on the bed in the guest bedroom.

When my brothers and I arrived for the holidays, we fought over who would have the privilege of sleeping underneath the loving comfort of her Poinsettia quilt. Mother had us draw straws to determine who the lucky winner would be. Drawing straws quickly became a holiday tradition in and of itself.

More often than not, I drew the lucky straw!

Many years later, I was deeply touched when Mother gave me her Poinsettia quilt. Every Christmas since, I retrieve it from storage just as she did, thoughtfully unfolding it and unwrapping the holiday memories.

As I place it on my bed, I can feel her affectionate spirit fill my bedroom, reminding me of the importance of holiday memories and Christmas traditions. They are the glue that binds family together over time and from one generation to the next.

For me, taking part in holiday traditions and rituals helps me feel like I’m a part of something bigger. They give me a sense of where I came from, why I’m here, and link me to my past and to each other.

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Don’t worry, we’ve got more like this!

• Positivity Corner: Decorate Early for Christmas
• What’s the Rest of the Story? – Christmas Poetry
• Christmas Traditions – Christmas Nonfiction
• Missing Everything – Holiday Fiction
• Mum’s Christmas Pudding – Holiday Nostalgia Poetry
• Gumshoe Gus: The Case of the Missing Ornament – A Christmas Cozy Mystery
• A Simple Gift – Holiday Nonfiction