"Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree...."

--Ernst Anschütz, 1824

There is something about a Christmas tree.  Real. Fake. Fir. Pine. Silver metallic (some of y'all know you had one!) Pre-lit. Short. Tall. Doesn't really matter...Christmas trees inspire awe and wonder.  

Here's mine this year.  

Yes, I like black and white photography.  

Tonight, I ate dinner with my mom and we got to talking about Christmas and that got me thinking about my childhood.  At 308 Perry Street, we almost always put our tree up on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.  I think it was in the Constitution of the Brewer Family to do so.  I remember we had an extremely eclectic tree.  Ornaments from all over the place were on that tree. There were a few that came from my grandmother on my dad's side of the family, and a plethora of unique ornaments sent by my Aunt Laura.  I remember seeing trees elsewhere that had more of a unified approach to them. Not us.  Ours was completely a hodgepodge.  And mine is tonight as I type this.  

When I was a teenager, I was rather a night-owl, and I can remember sitting up many nights past midnight, in a chair that my grandparents had bought, probably in the 60s, but that we usually draped with a sheet or afghan or something. I can still hear the paneling in the house as it would expand and contract with the changing temperatures and humidity levels in the house.  I can still hear the wonderful gas heater that sat in the hallway--the one that when the fan kicked on, Thomas and Jeremie and I would compete to see who could lie down in front of it first.  The loser had to shower first in the mornings.  And I remember the Christmas tree.  I could stare at that thing for hours, getting lost in my own little world.  A world where dads and grandparents were still living.  A world where your girlfriend's mother actually liked you.  A world that just made sense.  

Seems like most years, my mother would decide well in advance which color lights she'd use.  She always said red lights made the living room hot.  Green made them cold.  Clear, well I don't know what they did.  And, who remember icicles??  What a mess those were!   But it was our mess.  And sometimes, I miss that mess.  My tree has multi-colored lights on it.  I think it's because that's what Walmart had when I went looking for lights that time.  

My favorite thing about a Christmas tree is that it's a story.  It's a story unique to the family that erects it each year, and each year, another chapter is added.  The kids are a year older.  The ornament collection becomes more diversified, just as a family does.  And it seems as though the more diverse the tree and the attached family become, the more it remains the same.  It represents that part of us that doesn't change, regardless of how much change occurs:  our tradition.  And wow, how important traditions are.  

When my mom and dad married, their first Christmas tree was 2 feet tall.  Mom never got rid of it, but she rarely uses it. When I went to her house today, she had put it together and it was sitting in her living room floor, about 4 feet away from where we put our tree throughout my childhood.  When I saw it, I smiled.  I smiled because of what that tree means to my mom.  And what it means to me.  It means the same thing that all Christmas trees mean.  It means FAMILY.  

Merry Christmas to you all.  God Bless.