I always had a REAL Christmas tree ... every single year ... no matter what my circumstances were ... or where I was living ... it was one of the things that made Christmas magic ... and special ... for me.
In that first little apartment in Dallas ... in the cute house in the quiet neighborhood in Edenton ... during my Mary-Tyler-Moore years ...
And every single dwelling that we pretended was home as we ping ponged back and forth during the years of my marriage ...
Arkansas ... East Coast ... Arkansas ... East Coast ... Arkansas
Other times ... mostly Arkansas Christmas' ... we would tramp out into the woods ... locate the perfect tree ... cut it down ... & drag it home ... only to find that what looked like a reasonable size in the open air was several feet TOO TALL for any room in our house.
One year, Uncle Bill & Uncle John tooke me & the girls out to find a tree. To two toddlers ... it was a grand adventure. Once the tree was located ... there was much discussion about the height. The house we were living in had 6 ft ceilings ... and my two Uncles wanted to be sure that I didn't have to wrestle with "making it fit" once I got home with it ...
Overwhelmed ... I was ... with life ... and things...
They were so afraid I was going to unravel ... even though I never let on ... that I was anything but ... ok ...
There was only one other Christmas that it was just me and the girls ... it came midway through the story of their childhood ...
Until the one that ... we will always choose to remember as the one with LOTS of snow ...
So there we were ... on a cold December day ... tromping around in the woods. Finally the tree was cut & laying on the ground. After much a-figurin' and a-fanaglin' ... my Uncle John did what any right-minded man would do ... he stretched out on the hard, cold ground ... next to the tree ... so we could measure ...
You see ... if the tree was as long as him ... than it was TOO TALL for my house ...
It wasn't really a special Christmas for me that year ... yet amidst the hurt, confusion & hardship ... a very special Christmas memory emerged ... one that makes me smile on every remembering of it ...
I loved my girls ... there was no way I wasn't going show them what Christmas was all about ... believing is very important at 1 and 3.
My uncles loved me ... there was no way they were going to let me down ... believing is very important at 30-ish, too.
I miss those days ... of live Christmas trees ... of wonder & hope.
The year of my divorce I decided that it was just too much ... for me ... to handle ... to deal with the finding and maintaining of a live tree ...
... somehow nothing really mattered ... not any more ... what was the point in believing ... it was so much easier to pretend ...
So it was that a few years ago ... into my life ... came the artificial tree.
The first one came from my mother's storage room. It was an extra one ... that traveled back from Dallas when she returned to her life ... here. I brought it home ... and set it up.
It didn't really do much for me. Seriously. It wasn't real. Still somehow it worked at the time.
I mean, it looked ok ... once the lights & ornaments were on it ... so what if it wasn't real ...
That silly tree had it's own set of issues ... year after year. It's flimsy little stand was cracked when I got it ... so it was shaky ... at best. So the second year I put it up ... I bought a regular tree stand and struggled to make it fit.
Artificial trees don't have thick, solid trunks to work with ... so screwing the posts tightly enough to hold it upright was somewhat of a challenge ... always.
And it wasn't prelit ... so putting lights on the tree was still a part of the holiday tradition ... real or not.
Last year ... the artifical tree came out ... and it was installed in it's stand ... lights were strung ... ornaments hung ... and in keeping with the unstable story that has been my life for the last few years ...In the middle of the night ... the trunk on the tree snapped in half ... and there was a tremendous crash. It looked as if a little woodcutter had simply chopped the tree down ... the plastic trunk was splintered ... there just above the tree stand.
Gathering up the ornaments ... it was amazing that only one was broken ... which was a tremendous relief to me. You see my Christmas tree is what you would call a "traditional" tree ... decorated with a conglomeration of decors ... lovingly collected over several lifetimes.
There are ornaments that were once Mimi's ... and ornaments from my childhood. There are ornaments that came through the grown-up MJ years ... and ornaments from the childhoods of my children.
Each one is special. A reminder of a special time ... a special friend ... a special something.
The only thing that has been real about my Christmas trees over the last five years ... has been the rememberings of special things past ... memories found in the decors on my tree.
Decors. Everytime I open the box of memories ... I remember a Christmas a long time ago ... when the sweetest little preschooler ... who became my daugher ... helped me put up my last Mary-Tyler-Moore tree ... in Edenton. She oohed & aahed over ever pretty that came out of the box ... she called them our "decors".
Humpty Dumpty was the ornament my mother gave to Jessi on her first Christmas. Funny. It just came to me that THAT was the very same Christmas that my Uncle Bill & Uncle John cut down the tree.
So last year when that tree came a-tumbling down, ole Humpty .... well, as the story goes ... he "couldn't be put together again" ... that was the ONE ornament that broke.
One more lousy Christmas ... with a tree ... that wasn't real.
This year, I was going to just settle for a little 4' tree ... artifical ... that I had always put in the upstairs window ... just for fun ... with the little waving Santa ..
Somehow, I 'm still not ready ... for real. Maybe next year.
I knew that Jessi was going to be disappointed. She likes a BIG tree. And all of the decorations ... that have always been a part of Christmas ... her whole life ... ever since that first Christmas ...
So for these last few years ... while it has been too overwhelming for me ... to DO Christmas ... she has doggedly & deliberately drug in ... box after box ... of decorations ... and in her own special way ... she has made sure that the season never passes ... without a little bit of hope ...
In a random series of events ... the week of Thanksgiving ... a new tree found it's way into our house ... it's a very cool story ... and somehow everyone involved was blessed through the experience ... even though the tree's not real.
It's the biggest tree ... I have ever had ... longer than Uncle John ... nine feet tall! And, yes, I have the ceilings to accomodate it.
It's prelit ... with most of the lights burned out. That's how come I got it ... you see ... the previous owner decided replacing the tree was more practical than replacing the lights.
A week ago, I unpacked what turned into a humongous tree. And started plugging in the lights. Three sections were totally dark ... and one mid-section was partially lite ... with one little group doing a random blink thing.
I love lights. Lots of lights. Bright ... luminescent ... covering up a myriad of flaws. Since I've never had a prelit tree ... lights weren't a problem for me.
So I set down on the cold concrete floor ... in the front room where I have been ripping out carpet ... and began the task of de-lighting the prelit tree.
It was my Survivor challenge ... of the season.
Most of my friends suggested that I just string a bunch of lights over the top of the burned out ones. That just wasn't going to work for me. And, as in each previous year of my life, there were lessons to be learned from the Christmas tree.
If something is worth doing ... it's worth doing right.
I am pretty sure that was one of the lessons waiting there in the two boxes that the tree came in.
And ...
It's the tree that's important ... not the lights. Sure the lights are pretty ... and on the outside ... where everyone can see them. The tree is what's on the inside .. underneath all the glitter.
... and it's the genuiness of the tree that counts ... strong ... confident ... straight ... Or maybe wobbly ... listing a little ... yet courageously confident in the balance of it's stance ...
The tree is up. And it's beautiful. All of my stories are hanging there on the branches. And brand new lights ... along with a few strands of old ones ... give off a warm glow.
It's better than last year ... which was better than the year before ... and the year before ... and the year before ...
Still it's a fake tree ... pretending to be real. Just like me. Living an uncertain life ... struggling to find my way back to something that's real.
I came in last nite .. to find a stack of books on my chair ... from the bottom of a holiday box ... stories that we shared in seasons past ...
There amongst them ... The Velveteen Rabbit ... just waiting to weigh in on the whole Christmas tree thing...
.... and me ...
"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly,
except to people who don't understand."
Jessi continues to decorate the tree ... the house ... in her own special way. She drags in the boxes ... and picks out the things that she likes best. And once again, she has lined up ALL of the angels on the mantel.
MY angels. She tells me the angels are there for me ... to watch over me ... it's our own special tradition ... from these healing years ...
You see ... it must be true ... because ...
Jessi believes.
http://www.lifelessons-mj-mblogspot.com/
(c) December 2010
My favorite story of all time... and... yes... you are REAL!
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