What are we doing with a ceramic Christmas tree?

Posted 12/18/24

Boots were lined up, coats were down from the closet, hats and gloves piled on the hall table. Outside, the blustery New England weather added to the excitement of the day. The kids had all hoped for …

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What are we doing with a ceramic Christmas tree?

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Boots were lined up, coats were down from the closet, hats and gloves piled on the hall table. Outside, the blustery New England weather added to the excitement of the day. The kids had all hoped for more snow and were eager for the yearly excursion. Stumbling over each other, the four of them got geared up and ready. Jim and I bundled ourselves and we were on our way. Trudging through nature’s overnight gift of three feet of snow, we headed deep into the rich pine aroma of our neighboring tree farm with axe and saw.

Completely out of character for squabbling siblings, selecting just the right Christmas tree was always an easy decision. They all wanted the tallest. And with just a bit of adult input, a very tall tree was chosen. All four kiddos quickly tired of the chopping and sawing part of the project, but once our tree was on the ground everyone had a hand in hauling it home through the drifts. Christmas day brought family and friends, all oohing and aahing over our well decorated big tree nearly touching the ceiling in our family room.

I loved our holiday expeditions through the woods, but the passing years brought inevitable changes. The kids got bigger, and the trees got smaller. The children’s growth spurts were obvious with the constant need for new clothes, but the holiday tree change was subtle. Each year our trek to the farm produced a slightly smaller evergreen than the year before. And the time came when schedules took precedence and Jim and I trudged through the snow alone selecting an already cut tree half the size of our biggest.

It was bound to happen, I guess. We were changing our holiday routine. My parents were hosting in their home. I inhaled the rich pine aroma from our little tree as we had our usual present opening and pancake breakfast before heading to Grandma and Gramps’ house. It was nice to have someone else fuss over the holiday meal, but I was a bit taken aback when we first walked into their place. Instead of an aromatic, lovingly decorated fresh holiday conifer gracing the corner by the window, there stood a 5-foot-tall artificial foil tree with plastic elves and candy canes on the branches.

“A foil tree?” I bellowed. “Mother, what are you doing with a fake foil tree?” Dad stepped up to the plate with calming words. “Well, we decided to make things a little easier on ourselves this year.” Jim sided with Gramps, liking the idea of no needles on the carpet. And the kids thought the tree was “pretty neat” with its shiny limbs and colorful decorations. I calmed myself but stood my ground. “It’s a nice little tree, but we’ll never go the artificial route.”

It wasn’t long before the children were out of college, out of the house, and starting their own traditions. But we did still manage Christmas together, sometimes at Mom and Dad’s. It was at one such gathering where I found myself literally defending their old foil tree.

Walking into the living room, I immediately noticed that the corner by the window was empty. “Dad, where’s the fake tree?” He smiled and put his hands on my shoulders, turning me slightly to the right. Facing the desk I gave a low gasp. It was my worst holiday nightmare. “Oh no, what are you doing with a ceramic tree?” I bellowed. “The awful tinfoil was better than this.” My father did his best to explain. “This little tree is good for us, less work for aging bodies, doesn’t take up much room, just plug it in for twinkling lights. And it’s still Christmas. One day you’ll understand.”

Both my parents are gone now. The holidays are still fun, but different. I went into the garage this morning and brought out the old, ragged box. Clearing a spot on the desk, I placed Mom and Dad’s tree in the center, plugging in its tiny shimmering lights. “What are we doing with a ceramic tree?” I laughingly asked myself. Thanks to the annoying yet educational aging journey, I’m beginning to understand. Happy holidays.

Carole Marshall is a former columnist and feature writer for a national magazine. In addition to writing about aging, she writes a weekly critter blog.  She appreciates hearing from readers, cmkstudio2@gmail.com.