"Memories are bound by the smell of pine."
-Unknown
One of my favorite Christmas movies is “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” with Chevy Chase. I am particularly amused by Clark Griswald’s quest for the perfect tree as he and his family enter a forest looking to chop one down. Unfortunately, they forgot to bring an ax, so they have to dig it up—roots and all.
Back at the house, hijinks ensue as the branches of the way-too-big spruce crash through the window when they’re untied, and Clark winds up covered in tree sap. That leads to a hysterical scene as Clark lies in bed trying to read a magazine, but the pages keep sticking to his fingers.
My dad wasn’t quite as hapless as Clark Griswald. He was never on a mission to create the “perfect family Christmas.” He was pretty low-key.
In fact, when I was about 12 years old, he decided to switch to an artificial tree solely for fiscal reasons (though I think no longer having to vacuum up pine needles played a small role), much to the horror of me and my siblings. This was around 1970, and artificial tree technology was not very advanced. It was made of green plastic, and it resembled green plastic. Not very festive. But, I guess, as long as there was cool stuff under it on Christmas morning, we were willing to look the other way.
Still, our green plastic tree was light years better than the one my grandparents trotted out on an annual basis. It was silver. (Yep. One of those. It had all the charm of a lanced boil.) And I am pretty sure I’ve never seen a tree like that in the wild. At least our green plastic one was attempting to look real.
All these years later, as I look back, I have fond memories of that silver monstrosity, mostly because I was the one who got to decorate it. I used to walk to my grandparents’ house after school and wait for my mother to pick me up when she got off of work. When I got to be about 10 or so, my grandfather would lug out the box and I would get to put the hideous thing together. I was then given boxes of ornaments and told to hang them. Grandpa would sit on the couch and direct me.
“Put that blue one down there to the right. A little more… no, too far! OK… that’s it!”
Even though the tree was about 4 feet tall, this went on for about two hours. When it was finally done, there was no Charlie Brown Christmas magic moment where a few ornaments and some tender loving care would suddenly transform it into an adorable little tree. At least I didn’t have to add tinsel. The thing was one giant tinsel.
But I was proud that I was the grandchild chosen to put up the tree. It made me feel superior to my loser cousins. But that wasn’t all. My grandmother would let me help wrap all her presents. (It’s why, to this day, I am a darn good present wrapper.) I got to know what all my cousins (there are 16 of them) were getting for Christmas. To be honest, they probably did too. Because it was always pajamas. Nonetheless, it made me want to flex a little bit.
For the tree at my own house, as a kid I constructed a bunch of homemade ornaments, some from kits, and some that I made from scratch. They were actually pretty cool. I was living in L.A. when my parents passed away in the early 2000s, and I inherited all that Christmas stuff. They shipped a few boxes out to me, and it was fun going through it all. Memories… ya know?
So, I decided to start my own Christmas tradition using the old family ornaments (as well as some others I bought from a vendor at a local farmers market). I even had friends come over to help me string popcorn and cranberries to give it that old-timey Victorian feel.
It really did look stunning when it was complete. OK, it wasn’t short and silver, but it still had merit.
But here’s the thing: I always flew back to New York for Christmas. The tree would be alone on Christmas. But not really, because I had cats. Two of them.
When the holiday was over and I got back to L.A., I discovered that my cute little demon kitties had assaulted my beautiful tree. It was lying on the floor. Water spilled all over. Many ornaments were smashed, and the rest were scattered to the four corners. Six months later, I was still finding ornaments in weird places.
The following year I bought one of those 18-inch high, pre-decorated plastic trees from a CVS and put it on the coffee table and was done with it.
So, whatever your Tannenbaum traditions are—tall tree, short tree, real tree, fake tree, green tree or silver tree—cherish the memories. They might end up coming to you in a box someday. Just hope you’re a dog owner.
Merry Christmas to all! Have a splendid holiday.
Bob Dumas is editor-at-large for Halston Media. What’s your Christmas tree story? Write to dumas@halstonmedia.com and share.
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