Christmas Isn't Christmas Without... A Christmas Tree
I am So excited, Dear Readers: Tomorrow we're getting our Christmas Tree! I mean a real one, with needles that are going to shed everywhere, and will need watering, and will fill the house with that fresh pine scent. If you have allergies that cause you to get a fake tree, you have my sympathy, truly. You're right up there with people who are lactose intolerant.
I would like to take it all a step further, even, and go cut down our Christmas Tree but my husband feels that may be a bit excessive. What a Scrooge.
When my mother and I moved from Calgary to Poughkeepsie we found that we were suddenly closer to a host of relatives in Ontario, a mere 6-hour drive. So we'd get into the car every year and drive up to celebrate with them. It was always fun, and good to be in the True North, but it did mean no Christmas Tree.
Then one year, my mother suggested that we stay in New York for Christmas, and have my sister come and host a smaller celebration with just the three of us. Which meant we needed a tree. The first year we hauled home the tree from the library she worked at. It was enormous, standing over 6 feet tall and spreading its boughs a good 4 feet. It took up most of the living room. Mum, in a tasteful and understated way, purchased these white globe lights from Kmart, and red apples. "I want to keep it just white, red and green," she said to me; a departure from my childhood technicolor trees with blinking lights of every hue and dripping with tinsel. The dog ate the red apples that she could reach. We forgot about that part.
The next year we purchased a much smaller and more manageable tree, and sat on the couch with eggnog, stringing cranberries and popped popcorn on thread that we then draped on the tree. Very homespun, Little Women, Little House On the Prarie and my absolute favorite way to decorate the tree.
Tonight that's what I'll be doing: Listening to Diana Krall's Christmas Album, and threading cranberries and popcorn until an indent shows up on my finger.
I would like to take it all a step further, even, and go cut down our Christmas Tree but my husband feels that may be a bit excessive. What a Scrooge.
When my mother and I moved from Calgary to Poughkeepsie we found that we were suddenly closer to a host of relatives in Ontario, a mere 6-hour drive. So we'd get into the car every year and drive up to celebrate with them. It was always fun, and good to be in the True North, but it did mean no Christmas Tree.
Then one year, my mother suggested that we stay in New York for Christmas, and have my sister come and host a smaller celebration with just the three of us. Which meant we needed a tree. The first year we hauled home the tree from the library she worked at. It was enormous, standing over 6 feet tall and spreading its boughs a good 4 feet. It took up most of the living room. Mum, in a tasteful and understated way, purchased these white globe lights from Kmart, and red apples. "I want to keep it just white, red and green," she said to me; a departure from my childhood technicolor trees with blinking lights of every hue and dripping with tinsel. The dog ate the red apples that she could reach. We forgot about that part.
The next year we purchased a much smaller and more manageable tree, and sat on the couch with eggnog, stringing cranberries and popped popcorn on thread that we then draped on the tree. Very homespun, Little Women, Little House On the Prarie and my absolute favorite way to decorate the tree.
Tonight that's what I'll be doing: Listening to Diana Krall's Christmas Album, and threading cranberries and popcorn until an indent shows up on my finger.
I always love the Frieses' Christmas tree with real candles, not to mention the Rockefeller Center tree in The City. Post a photof of your tree, please.
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