Oh Christmas Tree

Just a couple weeks after Rob and I got married, I went to the mall to buy Christmas tree decorations.  Neither of us brought anything of the sort to the marriage.  At 22 and 24, we were thrilled just to have mismatched furniture, bricks-and-boards shelving, and the young knees and backs to make a mattress and box spring sitting on the floor seem cool.

Each year I added more ornaments, including pilfering a few childhood favorites from my parents’ collection.  Vacations usually resulted in at least one souvenir ornament.  Slowly our annual tree became a personalized commemoration of our life and times together.

Somewhere around the 5^th or 6^th year, I had impressively amassed quite a collection.  SO many boxes and tissue paper and paper towels protecting each ornament in a soft cocoon.  Decorating the tree felt like Christmas morning as I unwrapped each ornament to reveal a memory.  The setting had all the makings of a Hallmark Christmas Movie:  the tree, the memories, Rob and I wearing matching holiday sweaters as we sipped coffee out of Santa mugs, decorating the tree together, Mannheim Steamroller playing in the background.

Except, Rob doesn’t wear sweaters, neither of us drinks coffee, and decorating the Christmas tree somehow became my job to do alone.  We do, however, dig the Steamroller.

In all honesty, I started to dread decorating the Christmas tree.  Unwrapping all the ornaments took foreeeever.  Managing the task by myself felt lonely.  Reversing the process in January was dreary and depressing.  I enjoyed having the tree; I was just over it being such an ordeal.

Christmas 2000 rescued me.

I had a Really Big Back Surgery scheduled for December 18.  I would be in the hospital for a week and off work for 6-9 months.  I had LOTS to prepare and plan for and take care of, none of which involved the holidays.

In the frenzy of Pre-Op Prep, I gave myself an early Christmas gift.  I gave myself permission to streamline the Christmas tree decoration process.  Inspired by the ribboned and balled trees at Macy’s – lacking anything personal and instead just being pretty – I raided my local crafts store and brought home a bunch of ribbon and generic ornaments and fake foliage I could stick between tree branches. Our naked tree was dressed and ready to party in less than an hour.  It was amazing.  And an enormous relief.

Iridescently fresh from the hospital
(I went blonde to distract myself).
Macy's-inspired tree in the background.

I really thought that would be the only year I would do a Department Store Christmas Tree.  It really felt like cheating.  But the next Christmas, I was in the midst of realizing I needed a second Really Big Back Surgery.  Out came the ribbons and gold and red balls again.  And again.  And again.  And again.

I still have all the boxes of the nostalgic, personal, lovingly collected ornaments from the first 10 years of our marriage.  I’m not sentimental enough to bring them out of the attic, but I am sentimental enough to keep them there instead of downsizing them away.

I still decorate the tree mostly by myself, although Rob now assembles it, replaces burned lights, and then watches supportively from the couch, cheering me on and making sure I have tea.  I have slowly added enough variety of ribbons and shiny balls that I can mix and match to create a slightly different look each year.  It usually takes me less than 2 hours to decorate our tree, and I get to feel creative and interior designery as I decide on the year’s color scheme.

Even though our Department Store Christmas Tree lacks highly personal ornaments, it does not feel generic.  It is topped with the stuffed Santa who has been with us for over 30 years, goofily cross-eyed from being rubber-banded to the top bough.  And underneath, our tree is skirted with the latch hook rug I made while living in our first apartment, its yarn hugged by the soft black fur of three beloved cats, each convinced the tree was set up just for them. 

And in between the topper and the skirt, there is acceptance of limits, expressions of creativity, memories of grace, and years of tradition.

This year's tree.  Black cat
well-hidden under right boughs.