And so today’s moment of happiness despite the news.
Today is the 5th of December. 20 days til Christmas. And my response to that is, “Blech.”
I used to be a huge fan of Christmas. My house was decorated from top to bottom, necessitating the moving of furniture and the packing up of everyday knick-knacks, followed by the hauling out of boxes and boxes of my collection of Santa tree toppers, and Christmas music globes, and doorknockers and wreaths and…you get the picture.
But somewhere around the millennium, that all went away. We still had trees and such, but during the pandemic, I just went out to Walgreens and bought a small tabletop tree and teeny ornaments and let it go at that. My Facebook profile picture became the Grinch. I was, and am, a very busy person. Christmas mostly became about work.
A couple years ago, Michael and I came across a six-foot tall, very skinny, rose gold Christmas tree. It fit exactly in the spot between my piano and the wall, and so it required no moving of furniture or anything else. Because the condo doesn’t have a basement to store things in, this was a huge plus. But truly, standing there, looking at this unusual color and its brightness, I was enamored. I also kept hearing Lucy from the Charlie Brown Christmas special, saying, “Get the biggest, shiniest aluminum Christmas tree you can, Charlie Brown. Maybe painted pink!” This tree wasn’t pink. Michael called it champagne. I stuck with rose gold.
We brought it home and it’s been up and decorated every Christmas since. I remember that first year, Michael looked at me as I sat in my recliner and stared and stared at the decorated tree, and he said, “Who ARE you?”
Well, that’s always been the question, donchaknow.
But this year is different. At first, I really wanted the tree, and all of the family ornaments. With Michael gone, I still wanted the familiarity, the joy, the memories that each ornament brings. I have an ornament for each first Christmas of each of my four children. I have ornaments representing our cats and our dogs, and ornaments representing Michael’s and my shared love of rhinos, which came from our first official date (that’s another story). It seemed really important to have these up.
But…there are these two cats. Young cats. Still kittens, really, though more adolescents now. And both orange, and I’ve been told that orange cats tend to be a little…crazy.
Oliver arrived in April, after first, my 14-year old cat, Edgar Allen Paw, passed away in February, and then my 20-year old cat, Muse, passed away the day after her birthday in April. I went to the humane society to find an older cat, but came home with a 9-month old kitten who needed me. His middle name quickly became Dennis the Menace, and I at times tore my hair out, wondering what I’d done. Then, a few months ago, I adopted a buddy for him, Cleocatra, who was…4 months old. Ohmygod, even younger. Oliver is now a year and a half old, Cleo, 6 months. Both orange.
At first, I thought we’d still do the tree. I schemed with my son, and we came up with a way to put a hook in the rafters above the tree and tie it, so it wouldn’t tip over.
But the ornaments. I could so easily see the cats getting on the piano and just batting the ornaments, one by one, off the tree.
I pictured the shattered mess. I saw my favorite ornament, one that was my grandmother’s, in pieces. I saw my ornaments from the Walton’s Mountain museum, broken. And the faces of each of my babies, on their first Christmases.
I realized I just couldn’t handle any more loss this year. So I gave up on the tree.
Instead, I found a tabletop ceramic tree, with little lights all over it, and a silver star on top. It’s new, but it’s like the ones we all had in the 80s. It sits on my island, and can be seen in the kitchen and the living room. During this year, I visited St. Vincent’s, and I found an unusual and lovely nativity set, carved out of wood. Joseph was missing an arm, but that just increased the charm for me – I have a thing for giving damaged goods a home. Just ask my clocks. So I had that here, in my closet, and I brought it out and set it around the Christmas tree, even though I’m pretty sure there weren’t any lit evergreens in a stable in Bethlehem.
And I thought it would do, though it still made me sad to look at it, and then at the corner where my rose gold tree was supposed to be, with all its memories.
Then, I made a trip to Walgreens. As I left, I walked through the Christmas aisle. And I was drawn to a cone-shaped, tabletop, clear plastic beveled Christmas tree. It lit up. And while it was plastic, it looked bejeweled. I put it back on the shelf. But then picked it up again. And then picked up a matching mate. I brought them home.
At first, I put them around the ceramic tree and the nativity set. But they glowed brighter, and made the nativity look like a Hollywood set, complete with a disco ball. I drummed my fingers on the island, and then looked over at the piano, where Michael’s urn stands. Because of a little wall partition, that corner is pretty dark. The lights from the ceramic tree didn’t reach the urn, as the lights from the rose gold tree would have.
So I picked up the two new trees and placed them around Michael. He is now doused in Christmas light. Should the cats jump up there and smack these off, they weren’t expensive. They aren’t filled with memories.
But they surely helped last night, when I turned off all the other lights, except for the ceramic tree and the two plastic trees, and I sat and looked at Christmas.
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.
