Here She Is Again...The Christmas Bride

    A friend of mine recently asked me if The Christmas Bride was coming back again!

    "Of course," I replied. 

    And here she is in all of her glory...

     One of our oldest family Christmas traditions was borne out of desperation rather than necessity as the age-old axiom asserts. In the early years of our marriage my husband and I argued incessantly over the annual purchase of the Christmas tree. It is not that the man was the incarnate Ebenezer Scrooge, but rather the one who tended to view life from an immensely practical side (I suppose ole Ebenezer did too). My husband's point of view was based on the fact that since we traveled 500 miles to spend Christmas with my family of origin every other year, the purchase of a Christmas tree for a house that would be vacant on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day was totally superfluous. But I, who was raised by the Queen of Christmas Decor, knew otherwise. 

      It mattered little whether the house was occupied on the actual day of Christmas or Christmas Eve...the tree was an essential component of the festivity and celebration of the season. Yet my husband would not budge. Thus I was forced to badger, cajole, plead, and use every resource available to convince the recalcitrant man that a Christmas tree was a vital purchase EVERY single year.

     Once I had won this battle, I had little time to rest on my laurels before another problem arose. The tree was purchased and firmly ensconced in the living room but alas, there were very FEW LIGHTS and virtually NO ORNAMENTS. What was a girl to do? I was desperate. I had won the right to have the tree each year, but who wants a naked tree in the house...staring at you night after night waiting and begging to be dressed in some appropriate holiday finery. And I knew better than to go to my husband and ask for more money to purchase items that he already struggled to find necessary. And so in my desperation I prayed for inspiration and inspiration I found.

     The first year I popped popcorn, bought cranberries and made garlands galore until my thumbs were sore from the needles going in and out, in and out as I strung for hours on end. And when I realized the next year that I was in the same boat as before because used popcorn and cranberry garlands are only good for the birds... I prayed once again. On the hunt in our tiny apartment, I dug through an old trunk to find carefully preserved bows, ribbons and leftover tulle from our wedding. I also found a few bits -- a yard or two here and there-- of several laces that I had purchased to embellish a dress or two. Soon these ribbons and laces found their way onto the tree and over time have become the tradition in our home. Now there are ribbons from our daughter's wedding and some gorgeous antique lace given to me by a special friend over 20 years ago that have been added to the original collection.

      Each year these ribbons and bits of lace more than garnish our tree-- they serve as the tree's primary decoration and help to make each tree a object of beauty. 

    When my daughter was about six or seven, she was helping me drape the tree in its finery when she turned to me and said, "Look Mommy, our tree is a bride." 

     And I stepped back and squinted my eyes just so. And then I saw it. The tall green lady in her odd bits of lace and ribbon had suddenly become a very beautiful bride. And so it has been for the past thirty-five years that all our Christmas trees are brides. Each one different and each one beautiful in her own right. 

      I love it. 

     For me, it is another extension of the picture of Christ and his love for His people, the Church. We are His bride and He is the Bridegroom. And each year when we celebrate Christmas, we celebrate the mystery of the unlovely who become the lovely by the grace, mercy, incarnation, and sacrifice of God. And each year our tree stands in her bridal glory as a tangible reminder of that glorious and powerful love.

      And here is our tree in wedding finery, another reminder to me of the faithful love of God and the fact that despite the darkness that prevails in the hearts of men, Jesus is the Light of the World.

     

     

The Christmas Cave-In

     This post could bear one of two titles, "The Christmas Cave-In" or "How a Fake Tree Saved My Marriage." The Husband and I have been married for thirty-six years and traditionally Christmas has always been one of the hardest seasons for us to weather in unity, equanimity, peace or with composure, much less a joint manifestation of some semblance of sacrificial love. Despite the deeply spiritual significance of Christmas and all that it represents to us as believers in Christ, the husband and I have had the most serious wars of our marriage over of all things, a Christmas tree. I should be embarrassed. He should be embarrassed. We are. But we have also come to grips with the reality of the way that each of us looks at life. And it could not be more different.
     The Husband barely tolerates the Christmas tree. I dearly love the Christmas tree. And right there you have it. From day one of our marriage, the die was cast. The gauntlet was thrown...unbeknownst to either of us. He grew up in a family where the mother was perfectly happy with a minimally decorated tree and a minimally decorated house. For her, Christmas was all about the food and she was an exceptional and noteworthy Southern cook of the finest order, but decorations of a Christmas nature were definitely not her forte. I, on the other hand, was a descendant of a family line that revered all of the traditions of Christmas and in particular those that involved decorating and entertaining with style. My grandmother won her Garden Club Decorating Door contest for several years running, and she took her Christmas celebration, entertaining, and decor quite seriously. So did her daughter, my mother. My husband had no idea what he had married into, and I doubt that hot summer day in August when we spoke our vows that he ever even thought about Christmas. And truth be told, nor did I.
      But then Christmas did what Christmas always does. It came around. You might remember from an earlier post on the Christmas Bride, that the husband originally felt that since we used to travel out of state for the week of Christmas every other year, that on the year of travel, the tree was a completely superfluous purchase. We traveled to Florida that very first year of our marriage, but returned to our tiny apartment on the 23rd of December. After much crying, travail, and the use of feminine wiles, on Christmas Eve the Husband finally agreed to the purchase of a small table top tree. A real tree, of course. I distinctly remember that he talked the tree lot owner down to the bargain basement price of four dollars. Yep, you read it right. Four dollars. A bonafide bargain even in those days. Never mind that half the needles fell off the tree as we carried it up three flights to our apartment. It was a tree. I even managed to persuade him to stop at Walgreens (it was about the only thing open that late on Christmas Eve) to buy a few ornaments, which thankfully had already been marked 75% off. Although they were picked over, I managed to find a few hideous satin covered styrofoam balls and a plastic nativity which remained intact for the next thirty years where these ornaments always had a place of honor on our tree. They were the beginning.
     So having won that battle, I had little idea that we had just left the equivalent of the first shots fired at Fort Sumter for another war of another nature, one that was akin to the Alamo. Each and every year we would travel to the tree lot or to Home Depot to buy our tree. Our trees have represented all that the Christmas tree business has to offer. We have progressed from Scotch pines to Douglass firs and finally Frazier Firs. We have had tall trees and short trees. Skinny trees that looked more like pencils with erasers than trees. We have also had trees that appeared to be the incarnation of Queen Victoria...short and squat. We have had trees that looked like they were orphaned from birth and trees that looked like they could have graced the White House. And sadly, every one of them represented a battle. A contest of wills. His and mine.
The Husband would have been happy for the tree to remain outside "resting" for two weeks or even three before hauling it into the house. I would resort to badgering and cajoling to get him to bring the tree in and set it up, a task I tried to accomplish once or twice on my own, but found myself seriously lacking the requisite physical strength. It quickly became readily apparent that he was required to be on board.
     Once the tree was in the house, the next battle would ensue: getting the tree in the stand and upright: a wrestling match of the finest order. Words would be muttered under the breath and there would be much huffing and puffing. And then. Then he would collapse and say that's all I can do tonight. No lights. No angel on the topmost branches. I would grumble and pout and relent, because he is a man not easily moved.
Then the lights. More frustration. More disagreement. More disaster. And still no angel. If the tree was not too tall, I would haul the ladder in from outside and affix the angel myself, but it really was a job that usually required two people as she is quite a delicate thing. Some years, the sons were available to help, but none of them are too enamored of the idea of helping to decorate a Christmas tree. They must take after their father.
     I resigned myself early on to the fact that I would be largely responsible for decorating the tree, and it was a task that The Daughter and I enjoyed together for many years. We would put the Amy Grant Christmas album (the one with Tender Tennessee Christmas on it) into the CD player, make some hot chocolate and go to town. Those were delightful times.
    But then...then The Husband and I would get to the real battle zone. The dreaded REMOVAL OF THE TREE. No matter how many times I sought to prepare The Husband for this final task, he always tried and mostly managed to dodge. I guess in his mind, he had already done his part (hauling the tree into the house and setting her in the stand) and hauling out was not included in his duties.
    When the three sons were in the house, the Christmas tree battles were not as lengthy and protracted, but once the children went to college, things definitely got worse. Each year as Thanksgiving neared I began to dread the Christmas Tree wars. It was an old battle and I had no taste for it.
     So after thirty-four live trees, year before last I caved-in. On the day after Christmas, I did not go to the mall, instead I went to the Christmas tree store. I stood in line with what seemed like hundreds of women and listened while the salespeople extolled the virtue of one fake tree over another. I groaned inside, but I was determined. When I finally made my selection, I felt a tiny twinge of angst but that soon abated. The next year when Christmas rolled around and The Husband hauled the giant box into the house, less than twenty minutes elapsed before I found myself admiring a lovely shaped tree, fully lit and replete with the delicate bisque and lace angel firmly ensconced at the top. I knew then I had arrived. There were no mutterings under the breath, no pleading on my part, no tempers flaring and no frustration evident in either of our faces. We were smiling. I will repeat that. Smiling. So what if the tree did not emit that magnificent smell? I bought some fir scented spray and put live greens in other places throughout the house. I didn't have to worry about a dried out and withering tree crashing over. I didn't have to endlessly sweep and vacuum my living room multiple times. I was finished with finding needles in my carpet in June. I now have a happy husband and that makes me a happy wife. So what if I caved. I bought the fake tree. I know without a doubt that it has made a difference in my marriage. I only wish that I had done it sooner. But then again, I confess that I am an exceptionally stubborn woman. Bet you couldn't guess that, could you?!

Yes, it's a fake!

Back By Popular Demand...The Christmas Bride

    A friend of mine recently asked me if I would repost the blog entry about our "bride" Christmas trees. Here is what I wrote a little more than a year ago:
     One of our family Christmas traditions was borne out of desperation rather than necessity as the age-old axiom asserts. In the early years of our marriage my husband and I argued incessantly over the annual purchase of the Christmas tree. It is not that the man was the incarnate Ebenezer Scrooge, but rather the one who tended to view life from an immensely practical side (I suppose ole Ebenezer did too). My husband's point of view was based on the fact that since we traveled 500 miles to spend Christmas with my family of origin every other year, the purchase of a Christmas tree for a house that would be vacant on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day was totally superfluous. But I, who was raised by the Queen of Christmas Decor, knew otherwise. It mattered little whether the house was occupied on the actual day of Christmas or Christmas Eve...the tree was an essential component of the festivity and celebration of the season. Yet my husband would not budge. Thus I was forced to badger, cajole, plead and use every resource available to convince the recalcitrant man that a Christmas tree was a vital purchase EVERY single year.
     Once I had won this battle, I had little time to rest on my laurels before another problem arose. The tree was purchased and firmly ensconced in the living room but alas, there were very FEW LIGHTS and virtually NO ORNAMENTS. What was a girl to do? I was desperate. I had won the right to have the tree each year, but who wants a naked tree in the house...staring at you night after night waiting and begging to be dressed in some appropriate holiday finery. And I knew better than to go to my husband and ask for more money to purchase items that he already struggled to find necessary. And so in my desperation I prayed for inspiration and inspiration I found. 
     The first year I popped popcorn, bought cranberries and made garlands galore until my thumbs were sore from the needles going in and out, in and out as I strung for hours on end. And when I realized the next year that I was in the same boat as before because used popcorn and cranberry garlands are only good for the birds... I prayed once again. On the hunt in our tiny apartment, I dug through an old trunk to find carefully preserved bows, ribbons and leftover tulle from our wedding. I also found a few bits -- a yard or two here and there-- of several laces that I had purchased to embellish a dress or two. Soon these ribbons and laces found their way onto the tree and over time have become the tradition in our home. Now there are ribbons from our daughter's wedding and some gorgeous antique lace given to me by a special friend over 20 years ago that have been added to the original collection.
      Each year these ribbons and bits of lace more than garnish our tree-- they serve as the tree's primary decoration and help to make each one a object of beauty. When my daughter was about six or seven, she was helping me drape the tree in its finery when she turned to me and said, "Look Mommy, our tree is a bride." And I stepped back and squinted my eyes just so. And then I saw it. The tall green lady in her odd bits of lace and ribbon had suddenly become a very beautiful bride. And so it has been for the past thirty-five years that all our Christmas trees are brides. Each one different and each one beautiful in her own right. I love it. For me, it is another extension of the picture of Christ and his love for his people, the Church. We are His bride and He is the Bridegroom. And each year when we celebrate Christmas, we celebrate the mystery of the unlovely who become the lovely by the grace, mercy, incarnation, and sacrifice of God. And each year our tree stands in her bridal glory as a tangible reminder of that glorious and powerful love.
      And here is the 2010 tree in all her glory, another reminder to me of the faithful love of God and the fact that despite the darkness that prevails in the hearts of men, Jesus is the Light of the World.

     

     
Go here to check out some additional decorating ideas from some very talented folks!

Chestnuts Roasting on a Fake Fire

     "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose...Yuletide carols being sung by a choir..."
     I wish.

     Our fire is fake, but at this stage of life I don't think I can do the bending and hauling and stoking and cleaning that a real fireplace demands, so I'll settle for my fake fire. We just light it for ambiance, because we learned a few years back when Nashvegas had a massive ice storm, and we lost power for five straight days that our fake fire does not put out many, if any, BTU's. Oh well, it still looks pretty good, or at least I think so when I am not wearing my glasses. And chestnuts? Give me a break. Martha Stewart and Ina Garten might know all about chestnuts, but I do not. I don't think I ever even saw a chestnut tree in the part of Florida where I grew up. Pecans. Now that's another matter. I know all about pecans. I even tried singing the carol using the words "Pecans roasting on an open fire..." but it just doesn't sound the same.
     And Jack Frost nipping at your nose. I guess your nose is supposed to turn cute and red, but that never seems to be the case around here. We either look like Rudolph when we get really cold or we turn nasty pasty white. Neither is attractive.
     And the part about Yuletide carols...we don't sing in my family, we make joyful noises. We try. But even the obligatory "Happy Birthday" is best hummed in my house.
     This is supposed to be a post about decorating mantels for Christmas. I guess I got a bit sidetracked. After you look at the picture of my mantel, you probably will be able to ascertain a few things about me:

• I like trees. I mean really like trees. I found the painting above the fireplace at an estate sale and fell in love with it. I even waited and went back the second day to see if I could get a better deal. I did. And it has been love ever since.  The painting used to be on my porch, but now is in my den where I look at it every single day. So I usually do a tree themed mantel to go with the painting.
• We have a big family. Those are all the stockings for my immediate family. My dear momma is the one who initiated the tradition of the needlepoint stockings, and all of my original stockings were designed by her and needlepointed by her. They are gorgeous. She would probably die if she knew that the in-law stockings came from Lands End, and the grandbaby stockings came from EBay. Oh well, what she doesn't know won't hurt her.
• I don't know the meaning of the word edit. I once had a decorator friend of mine come over. He rearranged the furniture, paintings and do-dads while The Husband and I were on a five-day trip. I think it nearly killed him. When we returned to our "new" home, he was kind enough to say, "You have lovely things, BUT...you need to learn to edit." Unfortunately, despite his sincere and well-intentioned advice, I have failed at this task. I do not know how to edit. I always get carried away with myself.
• I like clutter. It is my middle name. No explanation necessary.

    I guess there's not much else I can say. Merry Christmas, and here's the unedited and unPhotoshopped mantle and one more Christmas picture for you to enjoy: