by Kevin Burton’
O Christmas tree O Christmas tree, I’ve got your back O Christmas tree!
Is this me re-writing a classic Christmas song? No it’s not. Hear me out.
Thanksgiving (the holiday, not the action) is over. It is now cool to play the Christmas music and put up that Christmas tree.
I am one of those displeased by Christmas creep – the tendency of retailers and others, for the sake of commerce, to put up Christmas decorations in early November, or even October. I hate that.
But when the Thanksgiving turkey/ham dinner has been cleared from the table, all bets are off.
In other words, before the Thanksgiving dinner guests have backed their cars out of the driveway, I will have reached for the boxes that contain the Christmas stuff. It’s the most wonderful time of the year, and God help the one who gets between me and the tinsel and the ornaments.
However, this year, there are two threats looming for our Christmas tree and its beautiful, colorful blinking lights. It will be my job to defeat these two. I could really use your prayers here.
Threat One: The clutter.
My mother, once again, has downsized. My wife Jeannette and I have no intention of absorbing all of her stuff into our household. But a lot of it will come to us temporarily at least. Just now, that clutter has our Christmas tree area choked with her possessions, some potentially useful, some containing memories that poke me in the heart when I think of getting rid of them.
I’ve written before that Jeannette isn’t thrilled with “that warehouse look,” when our house is filled with too much junk from my mom, her mom, from us and wherever. At this writing though, the place is absolutely beyond the bend.
I don’t watch junk TV, but I can’t imagine our house in its present state would look out of place on a hoarders show.
That’s bad enough. But because it is almost December we are keenly aware that there is no place to put up a Christmas tree. My good intentions are to correct this by the time the calendar turns to December. But my good intention have let me down pretty much all my life, and the clock is ticking.
On Thanksgiving Day yesterday, I tried to let myself relax at least a little, watching the football games, but also going through mom’s stuff, assigning it to one of five camps: straight to trash, straight to secondhand store, maybe keep, maybe give to mom in her smaller living space, or definitely keep.
I told myself, “everything you do is progress.” True enough, but it didn’t make me feel great.
Even so, I have no real doubt that we will clear the space. But once it is cleared, we will be at the mercy of:
Threat Two: The cat.
I love these pictures on Facebook, of cute innocent cats in the foreground, horizontal Christmas trees in the background. I love them because it requires of me, nothing more strenuous than to scroll. I’m laughing up my sleeve in the same way I laugh when somebody else’s kid knocks down a display in the grocery store and I just steer my cart to the other side of the store.
However, in the 12 months since last Christmas season, we have acquired a new cat. This cat, Lakin, is allegedly six years old. But she is much more kitteny than any cat I have ever had, whether six weeks, six months or whatever.
We’re going to hang colorful ornaments on the bottom limbs and it’s so predictable what is going to happen. I can only hope we just lose a few baubles and that the whole tree doesn’t come crashing down.
Jeannette used to say of me and my late cat Mex that “they have an understanding.” That didn’t sound right at first. But Mex was like a daughter to me and the more I thought of it, it was obviously true.
Case in point: On our first Christmas together, I took my Seattle Mariners blanket that Mex considered to be hers and put it under the tree, wrapped around the tree stand, in the hopes that she would take some kind of pride in our shared creation and would not knock down the tree. She would always bite the bottom branches to show me what she could do. But she never, ever knocked the tree down or knocked off any ornaments.
Lakin? She will probably climb the tree and if she doesn’t electrocute herself first on the lights, will attack the Taco Bell “Feliz Navidad” dog that we always put at the top of it.
This cat is a swashbuckler, just like I used to be. Chances are I will defend her when Jeannette yells about the state of the tree, wishing all the while that I could summon my own youthful side, that looked for adventure in whatever came my way.
But come clutter, or clatter, or mayhem or mirth, Merry Christmas Season.
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