I have up a Christmas tree.
It’s a 3-foot flimsy job I ordered on Amazon. It came with a bent stem that I broke while trying to fix it, but I was able to fix up the little guy with some wire so it will stand through this holiday season at least.
I savor the spirit of Christmas, but not the commercialism. This whole thing of having the best at Christmas is so boring. The huge tree. Multiple trees. The most outdoor lights. The best-wrapped gifts. The special holiday dishes that are used only once per year. Yawn.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you to have all of those things. I’m more than willing to drive past your house and ooh and aah at your decorations, and I know many of you share your festive lights with the rest of us out of love.
I am displaying this flimsy Christmas tree this year because I deserve it. I’ve not put up trees in the past. I always said it was because I didn’t want the furries to knock it down. But that’s not the real reason. I didn’t put up a tree because it was just me, and I didn’t feel I was was worth the hassle.
My deformed little tree is decorated with craft ornaments I cross-stitched 20 years ago. Half of the string of lights is not working, but enough are to cover this tiny thing.
Maybe next year I’ll go for a bigger model. One that I can cover with lots of gaudy baubles for the cats to bat at and hide from me.
But for this year, a tiny, leaning tree held together with wire symbolizes a big breakthrough for me.