Photo by María Helena Carey
I have a complicated relationship with Christmas trees.
I think they are beautiful, but they are also a needly, sappy mess. I think they are stately, but it seems you must look very hard in order to find one that has a not-crooked top branch, to avoid that Charlie Brown look. I think they are a natural part of the season, no matter what you celebrate; but I also realize that it’s a Northern-Hemisphere-centric take on tradition. I like the smell of freshly-cut pine, but I worry about cutting down the trees and the environmental waste (although when I found out that trees are made into mulch, I have been able to let go of this qualm.
Christmas trees are lovely, no matter how you deck them. Even the fake trees have their kitschy charm and a grace of their own, whether they be a throwback to a futuristic retro era in silvery needles or a welcome relief to a tragic conifer allergy. And ornaments are such fun and a joy in themselves that year-round Christmas stores exist just so people can decorate their tree in anything from 50 birds from 50 states to zoo animals to themes too naughty to discuss in a family-friendly blog.
But every year, and despite this list of good things about having a Christmas tree, I grapple with whether this is the year we do away with the tree.
I would like to say that once the tree is purchased, set up, watered, pruned, lit, trimmed and decorated, the feeling of excess and duality goes away. But, along with the ornaments and my favorite lights –those that look like little mushroom caps and bubble– I seem to store that tree-related animosity and must deal with how to unpack it year after year. There is a part of me that wishes she could ease into the Christmas spirit and just enjoy the smell of the lovely fir in the middle of our living room. But the neurotic, commercialism-is-the-devil, part of my personality seems to be pushed into high gear when the holiday season begins, and the scapegoat tends to be the tree.
I love the idea of having a tree of light where precious memories are celebrated and displayed year after year. This year I took some clear orbs and tied red, white and blue ribbon to their loops so my tree would look a little more Washingtonian; seeing the happy little ribbons staring back at me made me smile and think of why I love living here. And then seeing my older son’s face light up while he takes inventory of his favorite ornaments tends to soothe my feelings of ambiguity regarding the 40-pound conifer in the room.
Perhaps I will never solve my Christmas tree dilemma. Perhaps I will never be able to see the need to have more than one, or perhaps two Christmas trees. Certainly I cannot imagine having 90, like a lady in Wisconsindelights in having.
But let’s just leave it at that. You don’t want to read my Santa Claus-was-created-by-Coca-Cola diatribe.
Happy holidays, everyone!