When you come right down to it, it is really all about the tree.
As Christmas approaches, it reminds me of holidays passed. It seems as though everything always started with the tree. Up North, we didn't start to decorate until two weeks before Christmas. That was our rule. I have finally accepted the Southern tradition, and this year put our tree up the day after Thanksgiving. But it is artificial, so the needles won't fall off and it won't dry out and catch on fire.
But back to memories of trees past. Women should put up the tree. It seems as though men are a little short on patience when it comes to that task.
I remember going with my father to pick out a tree. He liked the blue spruce. My mom preferred something with longer needles. The size had to be just right, but we usually brought the tree home only to find the top had to be cut off.
Then there was the task of putting it in the holder and getting it to stand straight. We all thought we had bought one with a straight trunk, but lo and behold, it was always a little crooked. To make it appear straight, it had to go in the stand crooked.
The whole family usually stood back to see if it stood the way it should. Everyone, of course, had a different opinion.
After much fussing and fuming and many "Oh, Judas Priests" from my father, the tree stood in its holder ready to decorate. Well, almost. There were some bare spots where branches should be. My father set about drilling holes in the trunk and inserting branches that had been left over from the top he had cut off.
He would step back and admire his handiwork. We would all tell him to hurry so we could set about with the decorating.
That was another job that was not as easy as it appeared it was going to be. The lights, which had been placed neatly in the boxes, had somehow managed to tangle themselves. The task of undoing the tangle was always left to me. I'm good at untangling things.
Then the lights had to be tested. At that time, if one bulb on the string burned out, the whole string would not light. So, one at a time, I would have to remove and replace bulbs until the culprit was found and the whole string lit.
The next step was to put the lights on, all spaced evenly, one at a time. We had to secure the lights to the branches. You couldn't just place them there.
Hanging the ornaments came next. There was always a trip down memory lane as each ornament went up. This special treat was shared by all the family members. My brother would cry when the dead pet ornaments went on the tree. We would laugh at him, which wasn't very nice of us, but it was rather funny watching his eyes tear up with each dog and cat ornament that hung on the tree.
Then came the tinsel. I liked it thrown at random. The rest of the family wanted the tinsel placed meticulously, one strand at a time, on the green branches. This took longer than I ever wanted it to. I was ready to see the final outcome of our handiwork.
After many hours and much ado about practically nothing, I got my wish. We plugged in the lights and stood back to observe this marvelous tree we had worked on so diligently. Nine times out of 10, a string of lights would not work. Back to the drawing board to test each light separately.
At last! The tree sparkled, and we were all worn out and pleased. It was time for eggnog and cookies. We delighted in the results.
Things didn't change when I got married. We went through the same process. I always held my breath hoping the tree did not go through the window before we were finished.
I do remember one ornament, which I have to this day. It was a little, plump, green elf. The first time we placed it on the tree, my daughter quickly said, "Oh, look, Mom. It's round John Virgin!"
I keep it on the mantel at holiday time just to remind me of that great, family feeling and my daughters's great sense of humor.
The first Christmas my children and I were alone, we went together to pick out our tree. It was such a simple task. We found one we liked and brought it home on the top of the car. My son wanted to know how we would get it in the stand. I told him, "Simple. We take it inside and put it in the stand." And that is exactly what we did!
They were amazed as it stood straight and tall; the branches were full, and the trunk as straight as a telephone pole. My son wondered how I did that. I replied, "Simple. You just put it in the stand and away you go!"
See what I mean about women tackling this task instead of men?
The next year was not quite so successful. We called it our Charlie Brown Christmas tree. It was short, lacked many branches and was very crooked. We were going to get another, but we decided it was a good conversation piece and we kept it, decorated it, and celebrated our good fortune to have a tree at all.
Now we have artificial trees. There is no muss or fuss. You just put it up, decorate it and away you go.
I had a tree after my children left home that was fully decorated all year long. When the season was over, I would carry it to the basement, cover it, and put it in a corner as it was. The next year I would call the grandchildren over, we would carry the tree up the stairs, place it in a corner, light it and we were ready to bake cookies.
We liked that 6-foot tree. My grandchildren still laugh about it.
This year, as I went about putting up our tree in Florida, I decided that it was too large for the corner where it would stand. We have an insert in our living room where a chair is placed on the right side; a 7-foot African mask hangs next to it; the fireplace is in the middle of the insert, and on the left are my three wooden giraffes. They are graduated in height from 7 feet to 5 feet to 3 feet.
That is where the tree was going, in the midst of the giraffes, so they would look like they were staring at it, about to munch on it.
I decided we needed a smaller, skinny tree to nestle among the animals. So I found a fiber optic tree, 6 feet tall, but slim, and it fit perfectly!
I was proud of my handiwork, and my husband was pleased. (Please note, my husband does not put up the tree. I do. I've learned my lessons well.)
I put the larger tree, which wouldn't fit in the living room, on the screened patio and decorated it for our cat, Ed Norton. He likes to sleep on the tree skirt. He also activates the sensor that turns the lights on automatically. I think he likes them on and does this on purpose.
We recently had friends over for a little gathering. When they saw our living room tree, I was asked if we were celebrating Kwanzaa this year since the theme was rather African.
My reply was, "You can celebrate any holiday you want to in our house. After all, a tree is just a tree."
Which brings me to my last thought. I really don't care if my tree is called a holiday tree or a Christmas tree. To me it is my Christmas tree and will remain so as long as I am breathing.
God bless the holiday season, no matter what your holiday may be!
