The Light and Bright of Playdoh

Being Poor and Living in the Possibility of Now

We were poor, only we didn’t feel that way when we were together.

My daughter, then age three, my sweet 20-year-old cat, Emma and I were living in a tiny apartment above a shop on Main Street.

It was all I could afford, as we two, we three, had left the comforts of our magical cottage in the woods, her father still living there.

She and I still had each other and we had Emma, and Christmas was coming. He wouldn’t let me take any of my ornaments when we left.

There, on the floor of our tiny apartment living room, stood the little, fake tree with lights her dad had purchased for her, but no ornaments. I was appreciative of the tree and he and I were determined that she never feel our animosity towards one another.

Still, that little tree needed ornaments. Enter, many colors of Playdoh, and the cookie cutters I had purchased for $2 from the antique store, right next to our building. She and I spent an entire afternoon, rolling the dough, cutting, poking a hole at the top of each, and letting them dry.

Two days later, they became the most magical of ornaments as we hung them each lovingly with bent paperclips. Most of them have long since broken, but I still have five of them.

Each year, as I carefully unwrap each one, I am filled with the hope and possibility that she and I created that year.

That was eighteen years ago. I had no savings, we lived paycheck to paycheck with me as a teacher returning to the classroom after three years away. I slept in the living room on an air mattress so that my daughter could have the bedroom.

Each night, I left the tree lights on, as I needed a night light at the age of 42. I needed the glow of possibility and hope. Emma, our cat, slept under the tree on a remnant of flannel fabric we used as a tree skirt. I would stare at our ornaments until sleep finally took over.

The tree we have now is larger and is filled with mostly homemade ornaments, a few my ex. finally returned to me that I had purchased when I lived in Germany in the 1970s and several cats, dogs, and various animal ornaments. The star at the top was made by my daughter when she was two years old.

I have the story of each of those precious hanging pieces of art. And more precious still, the memory of the Christmas when we seemingly had so little, but in fact, had so much.