Christmas from Hades
by Karen Williams - Oviedo Voice - Dec. 11, 2003
It seemed like a simple, enjoyable Christmas tradition--trimming the tree. But even the best holiday ritual can turn ugly. It began when I retrieved our artificial tree from the attic. (O.K., so it’s not a freshly cut Norfolk pine, but ANYTHING can be transformed with a little artificial snow and some forest scent bathroom spray.)
With the exuberance of a kid who has been subsisting on fudge and candy canes, my 13-year-old daughter, Emily, (not necessarily her real name) volunteered to assemble the tree. Taking time out only for video games and a TV mini-series, she eventually finished the task.
Trouble began to brew when my mother, 93, emerged from her room to help decorate. After Emily placed the lights on the tree and had them flashing like something from Vegas, my mom, shielding her eyes, began adding ornaments.
“No!” Emily suddenly shrieked. “Those ornaments are old and shabby! There’s no way we’re putting them on the tree again this year!”
Mom and I exchanged incredulous glances. Old? Shabby?
“I’ll thank you, Little Missy, to keep a civil tongue in your mouth with regard to these Christmas decorations,” I informed Emily. “When you insult them, you desecrate my childhood memories--what I can remember of them, that is.”
There were the slightly scratched and dented glass ball ornaments that my parents collected in the 1950s when gas stations gave away gifts after a certain number of fill-ups. There was the faded ornament that came via a trip to the East Coast that read, “Yes, Santa Claus, there IS a Virginia.” There was the frayed ornament commemorating “Baby’s First Christmas.” So what if Baby is now 50-something?
There was also the tinsel--a reminder that some things simply should not be packed in the bottom of a box but trying bravely to shine nonetheless. And then there was the angel that had graced our treetop for so many years. The fact that her head sometimes flopped off her neck and dangled precariously only endeared her to Mom and me.
Emily began deftly removing ornaments from the tree as fast as her grandma could put them on. Trying to avert a crisis, I brought them a large bowl of popcorn.
“I know!” exclaimed Emily. “I’ll string popcorn for the tree!”
“No, you won’t. That will look cheap!” replied my mom.
Emily and I exchanged puzzled glances. Wouldn’t an elderly person LOVE to see a string of popcorn on a Christmas tree? Wouldn’t it remind her of her own childhood holidays when life was simple, children were grateful, and everybody and his brother walked five miles to school in blinding blizzards?
Before I could barely say “frostbite,” Emily strung a garland of popcorn and draped it on the tree, ignoring her grandma’s grinch-like growls. Then she drug me off to Discount City, where she filled our cart with shiny new decorations. But when we arrived home, we found the old ornaments were back on the tree, the garland of popcorn was nowhere to be found, and my mom was washing down the last of some sort of food with a vanilla Coke.
A two-day free-for-all ensued in which Emily would yank off Mom’s decorations and replace them with her choice. And then Mom would return the favor. The tree began drooping and dropping its needles, which isn’t easy when you’re made of space-age plastic. My attempts to referee proved futile, and I finally joined the dog and hid under the furniture.
Torn limb-from-limb, the tree eventually toppled over in the living room, with old and new decorations scattered on the floor. The dog chewed up an ancient gingerbread ornament and had to visit the vet. Both Mom and Emily retreated, sulking, to their rooms as I tried desperately to reassemble the tree while squinting at a faded, crumpled directions sheet and scarfing fruitcake for its medicinal qualities.
“WHEN will people ever learn to get along--at least at Christmas?” I lamented to no one in particular and the whole world in general.
Suddenly a mature but jolly male voice seemed to answer from the vicinity of the chimney: “When pigs fly! Er, make that reindeer! No, better stick with the pigs.”
A truthful response, no doubt.
But I suppose there’s always a CHANCE we’ll see a sleigh pulled by curly-tailed oink-oinks flying the friendly skies on December 24th.
Hey, it’s Christmas, isn’t it?
Copyright 2003, Karen Williams
