Have you put up your Christmas tree?
My mother had this rule that it shouldn’t go up until Dec. 15.
At my house, with both kids all grown up, we’ve decided to erect the tree the weekend after Thanksgiving so that everybody participates. Frankly, wrestling with a 9-feet-tall evergreen isn’t something I’m very good at.
So, this past weekend, after everybody had their turkey-naps, we headed to our favorite nursery and found an excellent fir.
I feel my mother over my shoulder when it comes to the lights. She insisted it was key to getting a goodly portion of them close to the tree’s trunk so you could have some depth of viewing. She’s right, it does make a difference.
Will got the ball rolling with the ornaments, and ultimately Margaret couldn’t stand just to watch. In not much time, they’d got it done.
Now, it’s my pleasure to sit and admire our handiwork.
I hope you have ornaments, like I do, that mean something or tell a story. If not, it’s time you did.
I’ve got wooden ornaments I painted back in the early 1970s when I got my own tree. Needless to say, my friend Pamela and others have gifted me with numerous Elvis ornaments, which are quite fabulous.
Then, there are child-related ones like “Baby’s First Christmas” and things they made in elementary school, which are very dear.
I thank their teachers for knowing how much I’d cherish them. One of my favorites is the angel, which of course goes at the top – it’s of white poster board and gold glitter with Margaret’s that-year school picture pasted on the angel’s face. Sweet is not a good enough word to describe it.
The stockings are almost ready to hang from the mantle, but I’m waiting until I make a new one this year. I’ll have my first grandpuppy when Margaret comes home for the holidays with a King Charles Spaniel named Bonnie.
She’s appropriately named for the tragic child of Scarlett and Rhett from “Gone With the Wind,” which is one of Margaret’s favorite movies. Knowing the child’s fate, we’ve determined to keep puppy Bonnie off ponies until she’s much older.
I’ve decided not to add the usual tinsel to the tree this year in remembrance of my mother’s amazingly smart dog, Max, who grew too curious one Christmas long ago and ingested a quantity of the silver stuff. It was only later, when the digestive process did its thing that my mother looked in horror to see that Max had somehow “decorated” his rear-end for the holiday, and she was forced to assist with delivery.
That’s not a tradition I care to continue.
Patsy R. Brumfield/NEMS Daily Journal