Untangling Christmas

                                              

     It’s the Sunday after Thanksgiving and my boyfriend and I have decided to tackle the Christmas tree.  I’m at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and trying to wake up from my sleeping-in-too-late fog.  I’m in a bit of a mood, as I always am in the mornings, but today is worse because I was up half the night arguing with my nighttime demons and obsessing over something that doesn’t seem so important now. I can hear Don in the garage, so I shuffle out there to see what he’s doing. He’s throwing things around and cursing and I realize he’s digging through all the Christmas decorations for the restaurant, which need to come out anyways, and there underneath it all is the artificial tree my parents gave us a few years ago. It’s in a giant box and we’ve learned the hard way to open the box in the garage (NOT lug it into the house), and then take the tree part by part into the living room. It’s got three or four big pieces and it’s like putting a big jigsaw puzzle together, trying to figure out which part fits where. Don gets frustrated and throws one of the branches on the pool table (yes, we have a pool table and it comes in handy for tree throwing and storage). I know better than to try and help him and he finally figures it out. Voila, we have an upright tree!  Now it’s my job to hang the lights and decorate- it’s what I like to do and he’s in charge of outside lights.  I’m not really in the mood for this today (did I mention I didn’t sleep well?), so I decide I’ll just start with the lights for now, maybe wait until tomorrow for the ornaments. In fact, maybe I’ll just unravel the lights and plug them in to make sure they work (tip-always do that before putting them on the tree, I’ve also learned that the hard way). And so I begin the tedious chore of untangling five sets of tree lights, which is always a challenge because no matter how tidily I put them away, somehow within the year it’s like a secret tiny tornado sneaks into the garage and makes a mess of all the Christmas things. The lights are twisted and tangled and, honestly, I’m ready to throw them on the pool table. I start with one, I plug it in, and of course only half the lights turn on. I know there’s a trick to this, one bulb needs to be replaced or something, but I can’t be bothered so I throw them away.  Same with the second string of lights.  Finally, the third string seems to be fully functioning, as do four and five, so this gives me hope and lifts my spirits. We can make three strings of lights work! (I’m certainly not going back to Walmart).  Then comes the hard part, stringing the lights on the tree, especially with said pool table leaving little room to circle around the tree. I try looking at this as a fun life challenge, as it feels similar to how I unravel bits and pieces of my life and decide what’s working and what’s not, eventually discarding what’s not working after years of holding on.  So, I perch myself on my keyboard bench and start at the top, per Don’s instructions. Except then he sees me on the bench and says, “Let me get you the step ladder, you’re gonna break your neck!” For just one teensie weensie nano second, I think to myself, well that might put me out of my misery. I wouldn’t want to die, nor do I want a broken neck, but I can just imagine myself on the floor unable to move and then someone else would have to finish the tree and all the 8 million other things I have to do. But like I said, it was just a very brief and cynical thought, gone by the time he had the ladder and there I was up on that thing like a pro.  One small problem, in order to get to the other side of the tree,  I would have to move the step ladder all the way around the giant pool table, and that wasn’t happening, so I left the neck-breaking keyboard bench on the other side and hoped Don wouldn’t notice. It was still quite a struggle, me fighting with those damn lights, getting them to hang symmetrically and making three strings stretch out around what normally four or five would cover. I must have been quite a site, up and down the ladder, squishing myself between the tree and the enormous billiards table from 1970, all the while cursing and screaming at these damn lights. Finally, I was done and went to plug them in and, voila, lights with many, many bulbs not lit. I thought about crying, but then I remembered I had a little secret stash of bulbs in a box of what nots-ribbons and hooks and miscellaneous tidbits, so I pulled those bulbs out and very patiently and gently (I’m being facetious here) replaced the burnt out ones on the tree, and, voila!  The lights are up and working and look beautiful. Well, more like a beautiful, chaotic mess, but that’s all right.  Just like life and the girl who hung them. 

    At this point I’m feeling a little better. The coffee has kicked in, I’m proud of my beautiful chaos, I’ve got some Etta James playing in the background, it’s my last day of stay-cation, and so I decide to proceed with the ornaments. This has always been my favorite part of decorating. I remember as a little girl helping my Mom and Grandma with the ornaments and asking them stories of each and every one. Now I have my own collection built up over the years, from Mom and Grandma of course, and some from friends, students, or ones I bought for myself because they remind me of something I love-the beach, music, my heritage, etc. I start with my favorites: hand carved and hand painted Scandinavian trinkets: little girls and boys with blue dresses and coveralls, several different colored Dala horses (a Swedish tradition), colorful princes and princesses- all from my stockings over the years. There are angels playing harps and braided-hair girls playing mandolins or guitars, a snowman on ice skates and a Raggedy Ann doll on skiis. I have a troll doll with green hair hanging on to a candy cane, and I’m pretty sure my best friend in middle school gave that to me, it’s very 1978-ish. There are dozens with my name engraved on them, “Stef” or “Stephani” (and other various spellings), because these came along way before I was Sunnie. That’s ok, because they remind me of my childhood.  Many of the named ones are from my grandmothers, but one is a wooden teddy bear in a Santa hat with ”Stephie” painted on it’s tummy. The letters have those big dots on them and I remember it was a secret Santa present from a sorority sister back in the 80s. I’ve got a few from my little pre-school students- marshmellow houses and reindeer and candy canes, and even a handpainted globe from a play I was in years ago. Then there are a few sad ones: Baby’s first Christmas for a friend who miscarried, and so I keep it tucked away.  My wedding picture in a snowflake frame that my mom made for me and my ex back in 2005, also tucked away. Special, delicate, angels and nativity scenes from my grandmother that remind me of her so much I blink back a few tears…she tried so hard to influence me with her faith and I feel a bit guilty that it never really took. Still, I hang them because they carry her spirit. Next I open Don’s box, happy that we found it. Last year we misplaced this box and he was convinced it was a sign, that because our ornaments weren’t stored together, I wasn’t really committed to him. Silly boy. Sure enough, they turned up, and with the delight of a six year old I hung the best one:  Santa Claus hanging from a parachute. He also has a few seashell ornaments from growing up in California, and a beautiful blue glass dolphin wearing a Santa hat-a gift from one of his neighbors. He of course has a few guitar ornaments, and a classic old train from his Dad.  After I hung each and every momento of our past, I put up our neon star (remembering fondly how my very tall Stepdad used to lift me up to put the Angel on the tree), and then I stepped back to observe my work, and bumped right into that fricking pool table. 

     All in all, I’m quite proud of myself. Not so much for making the tree look so lovely and nostalgic, but also for just getting it up and done. I have problems finishing my tasks, or even starting them, because of all the complicated things going on in my life. I suppose we all do.  With me it’s usually morning depression or migraines or both, and the mixed feelings I get about the holidays.  Do I really want to deal with all the hustle and bustle? Sometimes I’d rather hide away. Do I really want to get together with family that often drives me nuts with their sarcastic comments and opposing political beliefs? Do I really feel like decorating a tree that’s stuck behind an ancient pool table my Dad refuses to let go of? Sometimes I get very “grinchy” and want to skip Christmas. This year, I think I’ll muddle through. Looking at this silly crooked tree with it’s mismatched ornaments and lights hanging hither skither- well, it’s not perfect and I’m no Martha Stewart, but at the end of the day I love it, and I think this year is going to be a great Christmas. Everything will be all be alright.  And even if it’s not, how wonderful is it that so many of us have trees like this, and that if we took the time to tell our friends about each and every ornament, they would have a pretty good glimpse into our past and what makes us the beautiful, tangled up, chaotic, messes that we are. 

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Peace, Love, and Namaste,

Sunnie/Stephani(e)/Stef/Stephie