He's always had a tree, real, resin or representative. In Poland, the ficus in the living room was packed full of homemade ornaments, topped with a taped-together Burger King crown. At home, he had a fully loaded, 8-foot fake one. And we visually borrowed our friends' trees when we stayed with them, in the intervening years.
Our plans to go to Brugge took a nosedive due to weather. Not surprising, in a country where airport admins forget to order enough plane de-icer and runway salt, with the result being the airport closes for two days during the holiday rush--and takes 8 days after that to get everybody where they need to go. After they shut down the trains in France and Germany, then closed the tunnels leading to most major Belgian cities, we chose to just give up and stay home.
Staycations aren't all that, and I finally get what the Donner Party and their eating habits were all about. 10 inches of snow + everything closed for days + no one you know for thousands of miles = you would eat other people, especially those who anny you, too.
This Nordic Spruce Alex helped us pick currently leans pretty far to the left. Like us. Not being from Sweden or Alaska, or skilled in the butchering of trees (or moose), we had a little trouble with the axe. Frantic chopping and machine gun-fast cursing took place cautiously with Alex in the room, so I'm surprised it's still standing--especially after that last communique from the husband of "Let go right now, if you don't want to lose that hand."
That tree tried to kill me twice, once with my tree allergy, heretofore unknown, and then when the "sleeping" spider in the wooden log stand that came with the tree, decided to go walk-about and bare its ugly fangs, then hide for three terrifying hours where it couldn't be seen. My arachnophobia went into overdrive, and I almost had a heart attack--until I splattered it with my boot, a book, a TV remote, a broom, and an orange.
We also have a nativity scene since Alex, this family's only Christian, decided that we needed one. His Little People child's set is in storage in PA, and he loves that Mr Bean dinosaur one so much that we watch it on Youtube every year. My baby wants a nativity? All the stores are closed? Can't drive anywhere, anyway? et Voila! The Star Wars Nativity!
I helped him make the manger, and stuck the foil on to make it sparkly, but he did the rest. Go, Boodle! He chose a matryushka keychain doll for Mary and Yoda for the lead wise man. Of course. A Krakow dragon stands in for the camel. There is no cow. I nixed the Chik-fil-A stuffed one, because it kept falling over and knocking the baby Jesus (a plastic alien from a Lego set---oh, the irony) out of his little pretzel-filled bed.
I like his ornaments and his homemade bird feeder, made out of a painted, upturned clay plant pot, and his glittered candle. And, how half the ornaments he puts on end up in one small cluster, down low where he can see. It's all right in your face when you walk in the door, just the way it should be.
I am saddened, and frightened, by orderly, meticulously themed trees in people's family homes, when they have really small kids still into all the magic. Aren't you? It's tragic that their stuff isn't "good enough" to put on display, and has to be hidden away to make the room "look good." All that arranged perfection seems passive-aggressive and a touch psychotic, to me.
I look askance at people who employ present wrappers and professional tree decorators, too. If you do that, you probably also refuse to hang your kids' artwork on your fridge, or let them bake holiday cookies or pastry with you because it's "too messy" and don;t do finger paints of play doh days with them, either. All of which makes you both crazy AND mean.
Merry Christmas! Vrolijk Kerstfeest! Joyeaux Noel!
0 comments:
Post a Comment