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Now elated about stuff I hated

2011-12-30 -

Up until this year I�ve always been able to blame my husband for the lack of holiday enthusiasm in our house. The other side of it is that I have a deficit of it myself, but he has even less than I do. He was raised in Europe, where his family didn't celebrate holidays like mine did when I was growing up. So every time he doesn�t empathize when I don't go home for a holiday, I will cry to him that he doesn't understand, and 'just because he doesn't celebrate holidays like Americans do, that doesn't make my special memories just disappear.� Also that he should start celebrating holidays with me whether he likes it or not. That argument, while fun to enact each time, has always been grossly ineffective.

For some reason a few weeks before Christmas this year, he was suddenly threatening to put a tree up at our place.

"Do you want a tree? Because I'll go get one."

I said no, don�t worry about it. Neither of us will miss it. But then he asked me again, an estimated 15 minutes later.

I said, great. Get a fake two-foot high Charlie Brown tree. They're very little, much like the direct reflection of my current yearning for one. Which didn�t seem to resonate well.

He was still pushing the tree idea a week before Xmas, so I said ok - then maybe get a waist high one. That seemed pretty doable, and I reasoned that it could not possibly be as annoying as the hundreds of huge dripping needle-y messes I�ve been seeing people dragging into their homes for decades. You'd think I was committing to adopt a child. (** Actually that isn't so far off: I was looking at the Los Angeles adoption website "Wednesday's Child" not too long ago and one of the contenders waiting to be adopted was a Mexican boy who by the way was a total looming monster! At 17 years old, he was 6 ft tall and scowling at the camera. He was pissed! I would be too if I only had one year of my childhood left. Which could very well be spent getting to know a couple of overly enthusiastic amateurs. But I inwardly blessed the parents that might even consider adopting him.

So this was the first time I think I allowed a Christmas tree higher than my kneecaps through our front door. First it was "but I don't want to contribute to the wasteful depletion of any forests..."

"Don't worry. They come from a tree farm."

"All of them?"

"Most of them."

Then it was �the dogs might eat the needles�. Then, I forgot all about it.

Until 4 days before Christmas when I got a picture text of a real live towering Douglas fir tree that was sitting in my living room. I did think it was touching. I texted back how fabulous it was and went back to work. And then I got a text back saying something about 'can you decorate it?' And then I texted back yeah, but that it will probably have to be at the end of the week, ok? Because you know how it is, being very busy at work like I am! (Actually, I wouldn�t know what to do being alone with a Christmas tree. It's like dressing a big baby.)

Incoming text: �You�ll decorate it at the end of the week like when? You mean like on Christmas Eve?"

I resisted as long as I could, suddenly bawling about missing my family, and how Christmas wouldn�t be the same without them. Same routine as always. I went on and on about when I �might� be able to squeeze some time in to decorate, until he simply became exhausted with me and conceded that he should just stop trying, because he would never be able to give me a Christmas like I had growing up, no matter what he did. Ouch. Oops!

So first I worked on quitting the crying. Now I was just crying about how insensitive I was. I wiped off my face and realizing that it did absolutely no good, went to the store anyway, to the place where people go to buy their tree ornaments. I probably looked pretty banged up, because when I walked in, the door guard (not a great part of town) actually said "Maam, everything ok? Were you harassed outside?" I told him no, I only harassed myself.

Everyone in the store was beaming and chatting away about some stupid thing, walking around carefree like they intuitively knew which ornaments they wanted. I followed a lesbian couple around who were picking out tree lights, because their cart was full and it looked like they knew what they were doing. They really had no taste at all, when it came right down to it. A Snoopy ornament? Come on! Maybe back in the 80's, ladies!

Two hours later, I was done shopping and went home. Four hours later, the tree was complete. I circled it slowly. It was like I had entered another dimension, surprising myself with this awesome new power I must have possessed all along. Kind of a masterpiece, really. And except for the one side of the tree that stayed bare when I ran out of ornaments, it was generally spectacular. I was so proud of it that I called my brother, and left a message on his voicemail (crying). And it was around that time that I realized that the traditions that I always thought were so ridiculous (like putting 150 delicate and ugly looking ornaments from the 1950�s onto a tree with my mother and reluctant brothers), were probably the exact reasons I was so lucky. Everyone should have regular traditions that they keep to, even if it's beating the hell out of each other every July. And when my husband saw the tree, I think he almost fell over. Number one because I even did it, and then because he was supposed to clip off the sharp branches and uneven parts before I got to it.

�Ohh... of course it�s amazing, but I thought you were gonna wait till I trimmed it!�

�Nope. It was now or never.�

I thought something was off.

Yesterday I got a video email from a girlfriend of mine. She sends these homemade Christmas videos with a special lesson out to all her friends every year. The actors are herself, her husband and both of their entire families. They all have a speaking part and dress up and act out Christmas scenes meant to inspire people (mostly to inspire the Christians, it never works on me). Previous years� titles: �The Kid who Stole Christmas�, and "Everyone Could Use a Silent Night". The whole family really gets into it, and they put music in the background and then end every video with a sing-along. This year the video was called � Good Things Come� and I can tell you there was nothing off-color about it. I saw how happy it made them, even if my own family would�ve made fun of the entire script and then refused to participate. Everyone has their own special brand of happiness. I believe that even in a hundred years, with five hundred attempts, you couldn�t convince any one of us that doing a video like that would be a sound idea. But it�s lovely to watch. And although I would dread the thought of doing a Christmas video even one time, I do have a new skill set that I�ll be implementing from now on. One that I�m convinced someone with a similar Christmas limp to mine will beg me to teach them some day.

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