(I wrote and published this in 2002)
Some people can't wait to get started on their holiday decorating. Like my dad - he always calls right after Thanksgiving. “Is your Christmas tree up yet?” he asks. “Because mine is already completely assembled.”
Every year he and I have a friendly Christmas tree debate. Last year dad (a retired accountant) bragged that his tree, purchased in 1980, was down to $2.94 per year on an amortized-cost basis. I argued that we live in Washington—the Evergreen State. It’s covered with trees, and one of them should spend the holidays in my living room.
“Besides,” I added, “I don’t like things that are artificial.”
“Does that mean you’ve stopped coloring your hair?”
“I’m talking about Christmas trees, dad."
“So you want one that’s dead?”
“No, I want one that’s real. I want an old-fashioned evergreen that’ll make the whole house smell good.”
“My house smells great,” he said. “I just mopped the kitchen with Pine-Sol.”
Everyone looks for shortcuts during the holiday season, and I’m no exception. I make Christmas cookies using dough from a tube, mail my holiday letter by clicking “Send Now,” and buy Starbucks gift cards by the deck. But every family needs traditions. Even though it’s a lot of work, one of ours is to bundle up and head outdoors for a real Christmas tree. It always goes something like this:
We’re barely on the tree lot before my husband, Steve, points. “That one looks good.”
“You can’t pick the first tree you find!” I tell him.
“I don’t want to be here all day,” he answers. “Besides, you’re too indecisive.”
“I am not indecisive. Well, maybe sometimes…but not always…I suppose once in awhile…”
“Let’s just find a tree.”
We wander the lot, but it’s hard to tell. They all look dreary and plain without lights and shiny ornaments. “Trees without Decorations” are about as attractive as “Movie Stars without Makeup.”
We end up choosing one and tie it to the roof of our car. In the garage, we screw the trunk into the stand. Then Steve lugs the tree inside and deposits it in front of the living room window.
That’s when I stand in the middle of the room, study the tree, and frown. “This side doesn’t look good,” I say. “You need to turn it a little so the good side faces the room.”
Straining, Steve lifts the tree, and slowly turns it.
Where is the good side? I wonder, as his face turns red from the effort. “A little more…a little more….” I say, as veins pop out on his neck. Somehow every angle exposes a new flaw.
Finally, he drops the tree and glares.
“Um, that’s good,” I say, even though the tree seems to be in the exact spot it started.
Next, I water the tree. This is suspenseful, since a tree is like a horse: you can lead it to water, but you can’t make it drink. Sure, the guy at the tree lot made a fresh cut in the trunk. But we’ve had trees in the past that refused to imbibe. Will this tree stay green and fresh? Or will it turn into a six-foot piece of kindling, keeping me awake with visions of fire trucks dancing in my head? I fill the stand with water, and hope this tree will be a "heavy drinker."
Finally it’s time to trim the tree. Scissors aren’t used for this kind of trimming, and that’s a good thing. After the frustration so far, having sharp objects around could be dangerous.
When it comes to decorating, I believe in having a theme. The beautiful themes you see on magazine covers are nice, but ours is different. Our theme is always the same: “Decorated by Kids.” Every year our daughter, Kelly, and her best friend, Kayla, decorate the tree together. Their favorite ornaments—the ones Kelly made when she was little—go in front. These include a one-eyed reindeer, Popsicle stick figures and toilet-paper rolls scribbled with crayons. At least the tree-decoration line has reached higher as the girls have grown taller.
The rest of the decorations are added in a haphazard fashion. These are the keepsake ornaments we’ve collected and creative ones given to us by friends. There’s the skiing Santa with the Band-Aid on his knee (a reminder of the year Steve blew his knee out while skiing), a tiny chalkboard (to keep track of the number of days until Christmas) and the naked Santa (which gives them giggling fits every year).
Once it’s time to clean up, the girls run off. Steve and I plop down on the couch. In the middle of the mess, we admire our tree, with its hodgepodge of ornaments and homemade decorations, hung with youthful enthusiasm.
I close my eyes and inhale the aroma.
It smells just like Pine-Sol.
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Kelly and Kayla December 2002 Kelly, Kayla and Hercules
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