Woke up the a world frosted in snow, must be December. It adds a little something to the bare spiny trees. I love bare spiny trees, but you knew that. Last night, we bought our Christmas tree, a small one again, because of the baby Godzilla who lives in our home. A tree skirt would be ripped off in 2.5 seconds. I daresay she might just try to scale that evergreen if it was on her level.
We bought the cheapo stand our first year and every year since, that darling man has declared in exasperation how we must get a better tree stand next year. We never do. Maybe that’s what he wants for Christmas? After busting out the drill and some twine, our stand is secured, but I wouldn’t bet my life that it won’t probably fall. That darling, she’s a force to be reckoned with, behind those beautiful, sparkly eyes.
It’s small, of course, and maybe a cousin of the Charlie Brown variety, but I love it, imperfect things have a way of sneaking into my heart and creating cozy memories. Is perfect a real achievable thing after all? Because a baby was on the floor discovering a strand of white lights for the first time and we were pulling all the ornaments out of the shoe boxes, remembering all over again. We listened to Perry Como and Frank Sinatra croon their carols. Hudson cried hysterically that the wooden Santa train, boat, and plane were not toys, but then he got to decide where they went and all was well. He picked them out last year, as our tradition goes of buying a handful of new ornaments every December. Always remember to write the year on the bottom so that 80 years down the road we’ll know, but I could tell you right now the story behind each one. The items topped with string, wooden and shiny, a tiny collection built each year, just like our family, our love, and our dreams.
And you better believe there is no pre-determined color scheme, just the one of life.
Mixed and matched and magical.