damn tannenbaums

Let me explain why I don't have a Christmas tree.

To make myself appear noble, I'll start with an epiphany I had in Korea - although if we're going to be honest, this doesn't really factor as much in my reasoning as a couple of later experiences I'll get to after, but it crossed my mind so I'll mention it. I went to Korea as an English and Bible teacher. As such, it was my job to teach the new, Christian Koreans that their ancestorial rituals, even if they don't believe in them any more, were wrong if they wanted to be Christian, because they were originally steeped in "pagan" culture. Then one day, it hit me: What's the difference between them following traditions just for fun and not because they believe in them, and us doing the same (case in point: the Christmas tree, which actually has pagan roots if you research it), except for the fact that we think it's okay for us because it's us, and it's not okay for them because it's them and their culture is foreign to us so it MUST be wrong. Anyways, it wasn't a life altering realization, but it did flit across my mind - the hypocracy of it.

But the real turning point(s):

My first year in my flat, Christmas 1999, despite my aforementioned reservations I bought myself a wonky little tree. Growing up, we always had wonky little trees, so it only seemed appropriate. I picked it up in front of IGA, paid the $11.95, dragged it home (around the corner) and set it up. For years, I'd had this dream of having a tree covered in nothing but little white lights. Simplicity. So I did it. It was lovely. I was happy. It was right. Until my mum came round with her friend and said my tree was crap and hauled out their own decorations and went to town decorating MY little tree with all sorts of ball-balls and tinsel and toys. Pretty ball-balls, tinsel and toys, but still. I protested. They ignored. Then they went home and I was stuck with a dead tree in my house that I didn't really want in the first place and especially didn't want afterward because it wasn't even me.

Never again, I declared.

Fast forward to Christmas 2000. A rotten Christmas all around, but I'll save the really sordid bits for later. In addition to my no-tree vow, I was totally turned off of decorating when I started seeing decorations everywhere in October. By mid-November I was sick to death at the sight and sound of, really, just so much cheap trash. I mean, not even the pretty stuff - just noisy, gaudy, tasteless junk. Everywhere.

I already knew I didn't want to be a part of it. The commercialism. Materialism. Many, many -isms. Until. I remember driving past a little shop on Vernon's Main Street, lit up with little white lights and this simple, pure sort of holiday style. It was so inviting, I wanted to go in and have a cup of eggnog, but it was after hours and, I think, a sewing shop or something and they probably didn't have any eggnog (or at least none they'd want to share). But that's the look I wanted, and so I decided to decorate.

So, I got the tree - my mum's, a fake - and took out the box of decorations I had. Then, I organized them (read: strew them out across the floor) and realized I didn't have quite the same ingredients. But whatever. The real problem came when I couldn't attach the fake branches to the fake tree, so I what I had, assembled in the middle of my room for the entire two weeks leading up to Christmas, was this odd, green, fluffy stick (the trunk) sprouting from a stand and crowned with a full cylander/cone/triangle/whatever of fake foliage at the top, where the branches were already attached because it was the very top bit. Are you getting the appropriate picture here?

Stumped about what to do next, I looked around at the great, walloping mess I had made, decided decorating isn't all it's cracked up to be and went upstairs where I wouldn't have to look at it anymore. Mess remained until Christmas Day itself, when I figured I should clear it out and make my house presentable for coming guests (immediate family). First to go: Yeah, um, the not-Christmas tree, of course. Let's just say that, if there's anything worse than having a dead tree in your house, decorated wrongly and against your will, it's having a metal rod with green fuzz wrapped around it, shooting up phallically in the centre of your room and surrounded by the carnage of fake branches that refuse to be attached. Nothing like a little of that to drive the absurdity home.

I still decorated, after throwing the remnants of said fake tree into a garbage bag (actually, two). I set the flashing lights up on my veranda, stuck a green garland boa and lights around the door, and draped more white lights across the window sills in my kitchen and living room. It was a winter thing. No tree, but lots of spirit. Or at least I thought so, and I'm the one that matters since I have to live with it.

The next year, when I anounced my defiant intention to NOT having a Christmas tree (again), Avery was concerned. "Where will you put the presents, Aunty," she asked. "Well, luv, what did I do last year?" She couldn't remember not having a tree - - which proved my point even further.

Will I never have another Christmas tree in my life? I'm not going to say, "no, I will never let one of those things into my house." But I haven't had one since, and I haven't missed it yet. The presents look just as good piled on and around a table. And you don't have to vacuum up the needles that keep falling because the tree is, well, dead. And, no, I don't judge others for their love of Christmas trees. To each there own. I just prefer mine in the great out doors, where, let's face it, they really belong.