Joy from a wooden tree

By Molly Roberts
Posted 12/23/20

The problem arose a few years ago when my cat, Whiskey, suddenly started spraying our Christmas tree — nothing we could do would stop him from his urinary vandalism of the plastic conifer we …

This item is available in full to subscribers.

Please log in to continue

E-mail
Password
Log in

Joy from a wooden tree

Posted

The problem arose a few years ago when my cat, Whiskey, suddenly started spraying our Christmas tree — nothing we could do would stop him from his urinary vandalism of the plastic conifer we had no emotional attachment to anyway. So, my husband, Seth, decided he would build us something different.

He disappeared into the basement for several hours, hammering away at the scrap wood left down there by previous renters. Eventually, I could hear (and smell) the sssssss of spray paint and, once that dried, Seth struggled up the stairs with his bulky creation: a tangle of 2x4s arranged in a vaguely tree-shaped pyramid, painted with emerald green boughs, studded with protruding nails to hang ornaments from. It’s incredibly ugly.

And I absolutely love it.

It might not be the most traditional Christmas tree ever, but it is ours. Same goes for the ornaments we adorn it with. We don’t have any classic shiny orbs, but we have multiple jellyfish, Yurtle the Turtle and a plaster cast of Seth’s grandfather’s big toe. This last originated when Grandpa Sidney’s friend was to be married on Christmas day in the 1920s and Grandpa Sidney snuck into the church the night before and covered all the trees with large ceramic replicas of his toe. It is the first ornament that goes on our tree every year and the last to come off.

Because my father-in-law loves them, we top our tree not with an angel or a star, but with an aardvark — one Seth made from a manilla folder.

Our lovely, crazy tree sits in the corner of our living room and every morning when I bend down to plug it in, I beam brighter than the strings of white and multicolored lights combined.

A stranger might see our makeshift tree and think, “How horrid,” “How gaudy,” or even “How trashy!” But our scrap-wood tree reminds me of my zany husband, who I love so dearly, and the traditions we’ve built together. It reminds me that there can be a lot of joy found in just making do. It reminds me that Christmas spirit is what you make of it, not how Instagram-able your decorations are.

I love Christmas. I start listening to Christmas music the day after Halloween and it seems like every year, I beg Seth to set up our wooden tree earlier and earlier. I also convince him to let me keep it, and the plethora of other decorations, up until at least New Year’s Day. I want to maximize my Christmas cheer, to get as much joy from all the Santas and nutcrackers and mistletoe and nativity scenes and big red bows as I can.

If there’s one thing our “non-traditional” holiday traditions have taught me, it’s to never judge how others scrounge up happiness. If it makes someone happy to have a tiny tree, a perfectly Martha-Stewart-festooned tree or an ugly scrap wood tree, who am I to question that?

Merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah and blessed holidays to all — I wish that you all find your joy, one way or another.