Whose idea was the damn Christmas Tree anyway? GRRR. I have grown to hate the Christmas Tree. Maybe my despair over the Christmas Tree isn’t so “new.” My children could tell the story where, in quiet fury, I took the partially lighted tree, tree-stand, cords and all, drug the tree through the house and silently threw the bloody tree off the deck and into the back yard. I got into the car, went to a tree lot, bought another one, and came home to start over.
Moms get blamed for everything on earth, and so I shall be no exception. My Christmas tree problem is my Mom’s fault. Growing up, my Mom’s tree was PERFECT. It was live, fragrant, lovingly and painstakingly decorated, color-coordinated, overbrimming with lights. It looked like a magazine cover. She put a smaller, more perfect, girly version, in my bedroom. Outdoors, an evergreen was decorated with tiny twinkling lights that softly sang “Oh Holy Night” and other traditional carols. I have never, ever, been able to live up.
This year, I am in full on revolt. I refuse to put up a tree. My family is HORRIFIED at my rebuff of tradition. (I note that no one is volunteering to put up a damn tree, FYI.) Okay, so asterisk – I am kinda sorta putting up a “tree.” It is, however, iron. 9-feet high of wrought iron with scrolling arms. I’m going to display the family ornaments and illuminate with spotlights and candles. It won’t be perfect. It won’t be fragrant. But I bet I won’t throw it out of the house.
Moms get blamed for everything on earth, and so I shall be no exception. My Christmas tree problem is my Mom’s fault. Growing up, my Mom’s tree was PERFECT. It was live, fragrant, lovingly and painstakingly decorated, color-coordinated, overbrimming with lights. It looked like a magazine cover. She put a smaller, more perfect, girly version, in my bedroom. Outdoors, an evergreen was decorated with tiny twinkling lights that softly sang “Oh Holy Night” and other traditional carols. I have never, ever, been able to live up.
This year, I am in full on revolt. I refuse to put up a tree. My family is HORRIFIED at my rebuff of tradition. (I note that no one is volunteering to put up a damn tree, FYI.) Okay, so asterisk – I am kinda sorta putting up a “tree.” It is, however, iron. 9-feet high of wrought iron with scrolling arms. I’m going to display the family ornaments and illuminate with spotlights and candles. It won’t be perfect. It won’t be fragrant. But I bet I won’t throw it out of the house.