We got our tree this weekend. It smells great and it looks beautiful and I can’t help but think that I’ve come a long way since my first tree.
My parents weren’t “Hanukkah bush” kind of Jews, so I’d never had the whole Christmas tree experience until Scott and I moved in together seven years ago. Scott was on tour for the first few weeks of December that year, so it was up to me to decorate the apartment if it was going to get done. He had let me know how much Christmas meant to him, so I was determined to deliver.
I got a live tree, because I was totally traumatized by the dead tree thing. Never mind that we lived in an apartment and had nowhere to plant it. I bought a bunch of purple ornaments because I had a styley (translation: ugly), high-concept, purple tree plan. Then I spent hours trying to decorate the thing and when I was done, my fingers were shredded. Why? Because no one told me that there was such a thing as an ornament hanger. I took the top off of every single ornament and then put it back together on the branch, all the while wondering why no one had come up with a better way.
Fast forward to me opening my dedicated ornament storage box in front of the fire with our holiday jams going and, well, I’d say we have ourselves a real holiday around here these days.
Of course, the first thing Tariku did when I opened the ornaments was take out a glass ball and hurl it at the wall, but who can blame him. It looked like a ball, after all.