I wasn’t going to reveal this to everybody but my husband said I had to since the blogosphere is all about honesty and sincerity and thruthiness — right? — so the plain simple fact is I only put our tree up yesterday. Yesterday. As in four days before Christmas. I know, I know. Friends were shocked and appalled. Family members kept checking in anxiously on my (non) progress. How did this happen? I’m not quite sure. It’s not that I’m anti-tree. I put my mom’s up for her. I oohed and ahhed over everybody else’s trees. I just never got around to doing my own. I didn’t do it the weekend after Thanksgiving because I was gone and I was gone the next weekend, too, and then I had the Sinus Infection From Hell and then suddenly it seemed too close to time to take it down to put it up. And I was sort of approaching it as an experiment: How would I feel if I didn’t put a tree up? As Dec. 25 got closer, I got my answer: Not good. So up it went on Monday and everybody has been properly impressed. I have had the stockings up since Dec. 1, though, so there you are. And here’s the thing: Our Christmas tree is not one of those beautifully color-coordinated and themed trees. I think those are pretty, but I don’t do it myself. Nope. Our tree is like a family scrapbook — one with green stickery things that the cats climb up. We’ve got 20-year-old kindergarten wreaths and baby Jesuses sharing branch time with vacation souvenirs and mementos of favorite things and good times. Now, that’s a Christmas tree.
Published by shoalswriter
I'm a freelance writer, editor and marketing consultant focusing on style, history, food and the arts in Alabama, Mississippi and Tennessee. I'm also an adjunct journalism instructor and writing coach. My husband is a newspaper sports editor, and he and I are from middle Tennessee. Older Daughter and her husband, an artist and high-school art teacher, live nearby with our three young grandsons. Younger Daughter works in PR and event planning and also lives nearby. View all posts by shoalswriter