Last night Hubby and I decorated our Tannenbaum using the loot we bought from the Christmas Tree Shop. It’s one of those old fangled real trees that we picked up in Lunenburg. Growing up, my family never used real Christmas trees.
I remember Mother dragging the beat up rectangular cardboard box from the attic and, with a reverence reserved for solemn occasions, she would place the metal tree spine into the base. It was our job (my bros and me) to separate the plastic branches into the “A”, “B”, and “C” groups. Next, we placed the “A” branches into the “A” slots, “B” into the “B” slots, etc. on the metal tree spine. Then the real fun part was adding the lights and decorations. At this point, Mother broke out the box of wine and let us kids go crazy. The nativity scene was placed at the base and I used to play with the figures just like a doll’s house. Mostly I had the donkeys and sheep saunter around the manger, braying and baa’ing at the Baby Jesus.
Some years passed before Mother thought of a brilliant idea. We took down the tree just after New Year’s Day and, instead of dismembering the tree, she covered it with a plastic garbage bag (keeping the decorations intact) and my bros dragged it up to the attic. Mother was always thinking ahead.
We grew up in my Grandmother’s house and she had her own tree. I swear it was one of those silver tinsel trees with it’s own color wheel. Even in the mid-1970s, it seemed very retro. I have no idea what happened to it.
The real tree standing in the corner of our living room is a balsam and, so far, the cats have been ignoring it. Last night, Hubby and I drank Madeira in the glow of the Christmas tree while listening to the ice storm outside. Now, THAT’S a fond holiday memory.