as sentimental as i am, i've never been one for a nostalgic christmas tree. i've always gone for the carefully placed, curated, perfectly balanced look.
growing up, we decorated a pitiful scrub cedar, the tiny trunk wedged in a five-pound coffee can filled with rocks and water and anchored to the wall with nails and jute. the decorations were a mishmash of shiny brites, ornaments crocheted by my grandmother, doodads i had made in school, dollar-store tinsel ropes in silver or gold and copious amounts of silver tinsel icicles cascading down like a waterfall. the lights were c7s or c9s in red, green, blue, orange and white.
as soon as i declared my christmas independence, i knew i wanted nothing of the chintzy, homemade, garishly shiny christmas ornaments and lights i grew up with. i figured that if christmas is special and holy, the decorations should somehow capture the divine. i wanted my tree to be as spectacular as the angel chorus and the star in the east. i can see now that approach has some theological issues. i mean, if jesus was born in a lowly manger, it wouldn't be out of the question for our decorations to reflect his humble beginning, would it?
by the time my kids were in school, teachers had moved away from creating classroom ornaments. if wasn't for miss meredith, our long-time child care provider, we probably wouldn't have any at all, but those ornments seldom make their way to our tree. as cute as they are, those handmade treasures just don't mesh with my vision for what the centerpiece of the holidays should look like.
for the past 30 years, there's an ongoing story at my house that nobody touches the tree but dad. sure, i would let the kids help, but once they left the room or went to bed, i would rearrange the ornaments the way i wanted them in a neverending quest for perfection.
a year of therapy has brought to the forefront the reason why. i was so poor growing up that i avoid just about anything that reminds me of those days. just as i don't eat pinto beans, block cheese, chicken liver, fried salmon patties or meatloaf, i don't use colored lights or homemade ornaments, unless they're skillfully crafted by a true artist.
when lisa and i first started dating, i was mortified that her family didn't have a christmas tree, and i took it upon myself to make sure they had one. lisa and i cut a small cedar and hauled it into the tiny trailer she and her mom lived in. we decorated it with whatever she and her mom could find in the house. it wasn't exactly what i would have preferred, but in my opinion any christmas tree was better than no tree at all.
maybe it's because this is our first christmas as empty nesters, or maybe, after 30 years of marriage, lisa has finally caught my christmas spirit. regardless of the reason, this year my better half chose the decorations we would use. the rustic, cabin vibe is gone, replaced by classic christmas red and tartan ribbon in red, green, gold and navy. she carried samples of her chosen ribbon with her for a month, matching ornaments and other decorations to her chosen colors.
i still put the tree up and hung most of the decorations, but she guided every decision. we changed everything. we added garland to the interior doorways, and lisa made three new wreaths, four new christmas stockings and a new tree skirt. she declared a fourth wreath was needed for the foyer mirror, and she found a golden reindeer that now rests in a bright red wooden box filled with greenery.
the finished product is beautiful, festive, absolutely spectacular.
it's not that our past decorations weren't special, but this year they are extraordinary, not because of the colors or the theme, but because this is lisa's tree. lisa's childhood was a difficult one. christmases weren't joyful or hope-filled. her choices for this christmas are an elegant, bespoke declaration that joy and hope and beauty can be found.
there is probably a list of reasons why this change came this year, but i have a theory.
this year, our grown children are living independently and thriving. her mission as a mom is not over, but it has been fulfilled. we've raised a boy and girl in a stable home, well-provided for and loved without reserve. now, those young people are touching other people's lives in extraordinary ways.
Like our lives, it's still not perfect, but our evergreen perfect for us. we couldn't find enough navy velvet ribbon, and some of the branches no longer fill space the way they once did, and that's okay. we don't fill space the same way either.
this holiday season, our tree, resplendent in red and lit with warm, clear lights, is a symbol of a job welldone and a beautiful life that is well-lived. it's our story: classic, imperfect, not overly fancy, warm and filled with light.
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