Well, now that the dust and my stomach have settled from last week's Thanksgiving Day festivities, it's now time to start thinking about what really matters - Christmas. I love Christmas, and everything about it: the music, the lights, the commercialism - yes (gasp) even the commercialism. I'm tired of the generations of Xmas bashing by preachers, journalists and assorted other curmudgeons, who've become constipated by their own self righteousness. Come on, what is inherently wrong with being nice to the people you like for one month out of the year?
I do have my limits though. No kidding, one year I saw a holiday display depicting the baby Santa in the manger. Right next to it was another, that showed Santa kneeling before the baby Jesus. Now before you get your shorts in an uproar, let me say that both of these displays were located at Koreshan State Part in Estero, FL. The Koreshan Unity was a utopian society founded in late 19th century, and considering their unusual world view, a little confusion regarding the gospel of St. Luke, might be expected. But I digress.
In spite of the controversy, for us the Christmas season begins and ends with the tree. This is no ordinary fresh, live, expensive tree. Nooo... we love the cheap, cheezy, artificial variety. Not that I'm unnecessarily cheap or cheezy, it's just that I'm cautious. A fireman once told me how a Christmas Day house fire had ruined his holiday. I guess there's something about the charred remains of children, parents, pets and presents that can put a damper on any festive occasion.
So immediately following Thanksgiving, or at least by the first weekend in December, we release the tree from it's 11 month incarceration in the garage. And with the help of lights, ribbons, ornaments and several adult beveredges, we transform this modular mess of plastic and wire into something beautiful.
My favorite part is wrestling with the mini-lights. There's no way to do it right, and scores of ways to do it wrong. In fact, I've never hung them the same way twice. My goal is to space the lights evenly thoughout the tree, in as few attempts as possible. It's like golf. But like golf, you can obsess over it, and I generally do. When the kids were little, they'd grow bored and discouraged watching and waiting for me to get it just right. I have been known to ruin everyone's Christmas before it even gets started, because of the anger and frustration I succumb to during the annual lighting of the tree. After 2 or 3 drinks however, my mood generally improves, and I'm able to enjoy the rest of the evening, even if they can't.
The magic happens when we start hanging ornaments on the tree. (Martha Stewart would throw up if she saw the gems we've preserved over the years.) It's with great care that we unwrap and handle the one hand-blown glass ornament from my great grandmother's tree. Faded and fragile, it reminds us of the ancestral connection made this time of year, through the celebration of Christ's birth (or pagan ritual of trimming the tree, which ever you prefer). My personal favorite is the "Dood" ornament, named after my dad. It's a clear plastic little tabernacle with a shiny whirly-gig on the inside. Dood would make sure that it was suspended directly above one of those large colorful igniters. The heat rising from the bulb would make the whirly-gig go around, reflecting all the lights from its unique position in the tree. Since we use mini-lights now, the ceiling fan does the same thing, just in reverse. Then there's Hannah's 1983 hand print ornament, reminding us that our mechanical engineer was once an inquisitive 2-year-old. There's at least a dozen ballerinas and nutcrackers that grace the tree. Our Sarah was born to dance, and Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker was her favorite. Most of the ornaments are hand made. Grammy spent countless hours over her needle point projects, and one of them, an angel, watches over our living room from the top of the tree. Last year, she told us that it was time to throw "that tired old thing" away. "Not in this lifetime," I thought. Years from now, after the kids have divvied up the ornaments that survive us, they may wonder about the cross-stitched ornaments that bear their names and birth dates. Mrs. Bauchspies made them. She was in her 80's and dealing with the grief of having lost her own child to leukemia. She made them because she loved us, and wanted us to have them. She also made the green cross-stitched frog, that always has a Hershey's Kiss inside.
We've been known to keep an artificial tree for decades. Each year it comes out of hibernation significantly more damaged and disheveled than before. Eventually it winds up in a garage sale or out by the street. I know, it's not a very suitable way to dispose of something so significant, but cremation or burial are both out of the question. Maybe the next tree will be a real one. Either way, it reminds me of the temporal nature of these bodies in which we live, and the enduring precious promises that we carry within them, and celebrate each year, in December.
I do have my limits though. No kidding, one year I saw a holiday display depicting the baby Santa in the manger. Right next to it was another, that showed Santa kneeling before the baby Jesus. Now before you get your shorts in an uproar, let me say that both of these displays were located at Koreshan State Part in Estero, FL. The Koreshan Unity was a utopian society founded in late 19th century, and considering their unusual world view, a little confusion regarding the gospel of St. Luke, might be expected. But I digress.
In spite of the controversy, for us the Christmas season begins and ends with the tree. This is no ordinary fresh, live, expensive tree. Nooo... we love the cheap, cheezy, artificial variety. Not that I'm unnecessarily cheap or cheezy, it's just that I'm cautious. A fireman once told me how a Christmas Day house fire had ruined his holiday. I guess there's something about the charred remains of children, parents, pets and presents that can put a damper on any festive occasion.
So immediately following Thanksgiving, or at least by the first weekend in December, we release the tree from it's 11 month incarceration in the garage. And with the help of lights, ribbons, ornaments and several adult beveredges, we transform this modular mess of plastic and wire into something beautiful.
My favorite part is wrestling with the mini-lights. There's no way to do it right, and scores of ways to do it wrong. In fact, I've never hung them the same way twice. My goal is to space the lights evenly thoughout the tree, in as few attempts as possible. It's like golf. But like golf, you can obsess over it, and I generally do. When the kids were little, they'd grow bored and discouraged watching and waiting for me to get it just right. I have been known to ruin everyone's Christmas before it even gets started, because of the anger and frustration I succumb to during the annual lighting of the tree. After 2 or 3 drinks however, my mood generally improves, and I'm able to enjoy the rest of the evening, even if they can't.
The magic happens when we start hanging ornaments on the tree. (Martha Stewart would throw up if she saw the gems we've preserved over the years.) It's with great care that we unwrap and handle the one hand-blown glass ornament from my great grandmother's tree. Faded and fragile, it reminds us of the ancestral connection made this time of year, through the celebration of Christ's birth (or pagan ritual of trimming the tree, which ever you prefer). My personal favorite is the "Dood" ornament, named after my dad. It's a clear plastic little tabernacle with a shiny whirly-gig on the inside. Dood would make sure that it was suspended directly above one of those large colorful igniters. The heat rising from the bulb would make the whirly-gig go around, reflecting all the lights from its unique position in the tree. Since we use mini-lights now, the ceiling fan does the same thing, just in reverse. Then there's Hannah's 1983 hand print ornament, reminding us that our mechanical engineer was once an inquisitive 2-year-old. There's at least a dozen ballerinas and nutcrackers that grace the tree. Our Sarah was born to dance, and Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker was her favorite. Most of the ornaments are hand made. Grammy spent countless hours over her needle point projects, and one of them, an angel, watches over our living room from the top of the tree. Last year, she told us that it was time to throw "that tired old thing" away. "Not in this lifetime," I thought. Years from now, after the kids have divvied up the ornaments that survive us, they may wonder about the cross-stitched ornaments that bear their names and birth dates. Mrs. Bauchspies made them. She was in her 80's and dealing with the grief of having lost her own child to leukemia. She made them because she loved us, and wanted us to have them. She also made the green cross-stitched frog, that always has a Hershey's Kiss inside.
We've been known to keep an artificial tree for decades. Each year it comes out of hibernation significantly more damaged and disheveled than before. Eventually it winds up in a garage sale or out by the street. I know, it's not a very suitable way to dispose of something so significant, but cremation or burial are both out of the question. Maybe the next tree will be a real one. Either way, it reminds me of the temporal nature of these bodies in which we live, and the enduring precious promises that we carry within them, and celebrate each year, in December.
Merry Christmas to All
3 comments:
Well, well, you've done it again. You've written something that distracts me at work, makes me wish we were together right now, and reminds me of all the ways our family really is the best family ever. However, I must tell you that we have discovered the ultimate tree lighting technique. I may blog about it, so I'll just leave things mysterious...I'm counting down 'till we're together again (16 days!). Love, Hanione
Go for the fresh cut tree next year. That's a family tradition that we enjoy. If you stick with the artificial type, sounds like it's time for a new body. II Cor.5:1-10
KnotNuffScriptSureHTZ
Post a Comment