Upstairs in my attic there is a box that holds numerous old Christmas tree ornaments. These ornaments no longer get a place of honor on our tree. With a family of five, and new ornaments collected each year, eventually some must be weeded out. This particular box holds all of my ornaments that I cherished as a child.
There is Miss Piggy dressed as an angel. She was given to me when I was in my (obviously) Miss Piggy phase. I had a Miss Piggy piggy bank, a Miss Piggy hand puppet, and at Christmas that year, Miss Piggy joined the other ornaments on our tree. She even made it onto the tree after I was married, until the one year her wing was discovered to be broken. She was then retired into "the box".
There are also a plethora of the infamous Hallmark ornaments...ones that each year my grandmother would bestow on my brother and myself. "Grand Daughter" displayed on each one along with the appropriate year. As my daughter is now someone's grand-daughter, all of my old ornaments have been boxed away, so that she may admire her own special ornaments on the tree each year.
Also in this dusty box is an ornament that doesn't glisten or sparkle. An ornament that doesn't have a sentiment or name on it, nor is the year to be found anywhere on it. But I remember precisely that I was given that ornament when I was in Kindergarten. I also remember every year that THAT was the ornament I would place on the tree first. A simple bell that was made for me, hand-knit out of green yarn - it barely made a sound when rang, but I loved my bell! Maybe it was just because that was the one ornament that could be hung on the tree without fear of breaking when dropped. I don't know... but it was mine. It was an ugly green bell, and in it's crocheted center was where every magical moment of Christmas for the year started for me.