There are jingle bells hanging on the back door of our house all year round, not just at this time of year. It's a lovely touch at Christmas, to hear them ring whenever we enter or leave. For us, however, they are so much more than just the sounds of the holiday season. They are the memory of our families' daily activities over the years. A sweet audible harkening back to my children's baby years, my husband's first job, and my daily comings and goings.
In 1998, that first December we spent back in MN, in my dazed state of young motherhood, I forgot the jingle bells hanging from the knob in the back entry when I put away the rest of the seasonal decorations. So, there they hung. Polished brass bells mounted on a cheap belt made of gold colored pleather which formed a circle at the top with a cutout for the brass doorknob to go through. I was too overwhelmed by babies to care much about hauling them back downstairs and unstacking the Christmas box to put them away. Besides, they matched. Brass bells hanging from a brass knob must be somebodies idea of tasteful decor. So they stayed there in our back entry. A little turn around of space beside the laundry room, complete with a small closet where we did the daily drop of, shoes coats, briefcase, and diaper bag.
Samuel was a toddler then and he loved to make those bells ring. He found any excuse at all to open and shut the door, just to hear their tinkling. Joseph, asleep in his baby seat, would startle every time they chimed, waking for a minute wide-eyed, then yawn himself back to sleep until the next time.
As the boys grew, we all became conditioned to the sound, like Pavlov's dogs, when they rang we turned to the door. It became our beckon when Greg arrived in the evening from work. "Daddy's home!" I'd cry and the boys would come running to greet him. It was also my steadfast sentry when I went in/out to the van to unload groceries or shopping bags. They gave me peace of mind at night when Greg was away traveling. I figured if I heard the chimes then, I'd know about the burglar before he got in the door and he'd probably be scared off by the sound anyway. I never used our home alarm system. The bells were security enough. In later years, those wakening warnings did help Joseph on his sleepwalking rambles. The bells either woke him or us and we could return him quietly to his room for the rest of the night. It made us all feel safe, protected,
a warning of a daily departure or homecoming- all was right with our world if the bells were ringing.
When we built our new house four years ago, the bells came with us. They were the first thing we unpacked and hung up while moving in. They didn't match the decor anymore, as we changed our hardware to oil rubbed bronze, but those brass bells stayed. A symbol of our family and our busy lives, a tradition in our home. This week, the bells came down. Not intentionally, mind you. The cheap plastic leather belt just wore out. I wish you could have seen Joseph's face as he picked them up off the slate floor in the mudroom, and gently carried them to me. "Mom, the bells fell off!" he said with sadness. At 13, he still has the tenderness of a child, and is a compassionate boy.
"Oh no!" I replied, "We'll have to replace them". I thought about that and wondered to myself what I might find to replace them with. Later that day, I picked up the broken bells, I remembered their sweet sounds over the years, marveled at their enduring shine, and I cut off the broken part of the strap. I handed them to Greg and quietly asked him to fix them, to make them so they could be hung up again. I can't replace them, you see, it wouldn't be right. New bells will sound different, have an unfamiliar ring, a strange echo. We need our bells, their familiar comfort, clanging in their place on our back door.
I have a feeling something special will be jingling in my stocking on Christmas morning.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
