“Gifts of time and love are surely the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas.” ~ Peg Bracken

Good Morning!  

Today is my birthday, so I thought I would share a personal story to offer some comic-relief when faced with holiday stress.

In my world, Christmas preparations can never come too early.  As soon as the turkey is cleared from the table on Thanksgiving, I am hauling out box upon box of Christmas ornaments.  At 6:00 a.m. the following day, while other women are racing for the best sale, I am hunting down the perfect Christmas tree.  But what is more interesting is how my tree-loving spirit has continued – in spite of myself.

It was my first year with my husband in our new home.  We were playing house, as newlyweds do, and I was determined to decorate floor-to-ceiling in the festive way my family always had while I was growing up.  My husband wasn’t into the preparations the same way I was, but I was convinced that my enthusiasm would be so contagious that surely the festive spirit would waft his way.

Together, the day after Thanksgiving, we went to pick out our first tree and tree stand.  I quizzed the tree salesman about the ins and outs of tree care and we left, confident, with our beautiful evergreen on top of our car.  When we arrived home, my husband was ready to take the tree directly into the house, but I reminded him we had to cut the bottom to create the Yule log.

I waited patiently inside, as I had already piled box upon box of ornaments waiting for their new home in our living room.  My husband informed me he really “wasn’t into tree decorating,” and he proceeded to meet some friends that evening while I hung each ornament with care.

For several hours, I danced in the holiday spirit.  I turned from the tree to open the last box of ornaments, when suddenly, I found myself facedown, flat on the floor, my gigantic Christmas tree on my back.  I paused a moment in shock, wondering when I should do next.  I was scared to move.  I had heard a few ornaments breaking, and I didn’t want to move and cause anymore to break.  My husband would not be home for several hours.  Thoughts swirled in my head of how merry I had imagined my first Christmas to be.  Somehow, the image of me being flattened by an evergreen, with sap gluing me to the needles, hadn’t really been in that picture.

Although pinned to the floor, I stretched and was just able to reach our cordless phone.  I called my husband’s brother and asked him to drive over and rescue me.  I ignored his laughter when I explained the problem…

After twenty minutes of bonding with the tree, Bobby arrived and carefully lifted the tree back up.  We then set about repairing the tree, adjusting the lights, and affixing the ornaments to their branches once again.  After another hour of the Christmas spirit we were satisfied with our work and I took Bobby into the kitchen to show him a project I was working on.  As I excitedly rambled on about my project, we heard a loud thump, like an exclamation at the end of my sentence.  We turned in horror:  The tree once again lay belly up on the floor.

Bobby and I once again resurrected the tree.  This time we weren’t so eager to repair it for redecorating.  Instead, we leaned it against the wall and stared at it, puzzled.  Then I saw it.  The trunk of the tree was cut at an angle that would make an isosceles triangle jealous.  While the tree salesman had told us to cut the base at an angle to maximize the tree’s water intake.  I don’t think he meant for my husband to make it look like a ski slope.

My husband arrived home a long hour later.  “How was your night?  How’s the tree?” he asked enthusiastically.  I greeted him with a Medusa-like stare that a newlywed should not know.  I took him by the hand and showed him the trunk of the tree.  “Well, no one told me ’exactly’ how to cut it,” he said defensively.  That night we removed all the ornaments, and all the lights, and hauled the tree back outside.  Andy recut the base and our well-traveled tree once again went back inside.

It was nearly 4:00 a.m. when I finished “trimming” the tree – for the third time that Christmas.  I had long since turned off the holiday music and switched to an angst-ridden music channel that better matched my mood.  Too exhausted to admire my tree, I went to bed, cautiously hopeful that it would still be standing tomorrow.

Our tree was beautiful that year and it was to receive many a compliment, but very few people would every know the turmoil that came with that beauty.  Not everything is as easy as it looks.

Moral of the story:  “Sometimes the third time is indeed the charm, but it isn’t always as much fun.”

Your Turn:  My mom started a tradition of a family Christmas book, and every year, each family member contributes a story or memory.  This entry is from that cherished collection.  Consider adding a Christmas storybook to your holiday traditions.

Today’s Affirmation:  I celebrate wonderful memories.