It happened our very first Christmas. My beloved, the man I had forever joined my life to, actually suggested we put our Christmas tree in the spare bedroom.
Since then we have struck a balance and tempered each other’s enthusiasm, or lack thereof.
But I have to say that he did it this year. He has redeemed himself from that horrible first Christmas faux pas.
He brought home the biggest most beautiful Christmas tree that ever was.
This tree is so big that Santa himself could hide in it.
It’s so big and beautiful that I am reasonably sure I clapped my hands and squealed like a little girl.
Growing up I loved decorating our tree. Half squished handmade ornaments and the tinsel! Oh, my goodness that silvery slippery sparkle just delighted my soul. My trees now look quite different. I tried that beautiful silvery sparkle and cleaned up for months afterwards once and do not feel compelled to experience it again as an adult as well as the chief housekeeper. (God bless my dear Mother.)
But tomorrow we’ll trim the tree with red and gold and lights. Lots and lots of beautiful sparkly lights.
And each night we’ll turn the regular lights off and just sit in the simple glow of this big beautiful tree.
It’s the simple things that give so much pleasure. Like the fact that my house now smells like Christmas.