O Christmas Tree.
January can be such a dismal time of year. Sure, we convince ourselves on the renewal of self, that this year is anew and that our old behaviors will change. Sure we are fresh on our diets, new spending habits, new, more strict routines. We are probably at our most ideal intent at this time of year because the wear of the year and old behaviors resurfacing has not yet affected our score card.
The Christmas Tree is now nothing but an inconvenient paperweight that has to be dealt with. It stands there in the corner of the living room, once prominently displayed, perfectly decorated, and in our house protected by two parents from the 2ft and lower range of a child.
When the tree was adorned, we did so with pride. We anticipated the day when it was appropriate in our household to display out artificially, green representation of outdoor foliage, indoors. For those with the real trees your has not been up as long, but the scenario is still the same. The ornaments delicately placed the branches, bits and pieces of nostalgia all unwrapped from their perfect little place to previous years. The lights strung as symmetrically and evenly from top to bottom as possible. The various unique takes on themed trees to haphazard trees with the help of kids. All the elements of our lives alongside other pieces of holiday memorabilia, now staring at you, reminding you of the chore yet to come.
The tree must come down. The end is here. No longer are we allowed to binge on overly-rich foods as the pain of those last few choices hangs on. We cannot live on to the nostalgia of December 5th, for it is now a month later and here we are, older, fatter, yet with a new resolve.
"I resolve to procrastinate less!" One man demands for the new year. Yet, his tree stands still, almost dusty, on January 12th.
"I am going to lose 20 pounds this year!" A noble challenge to herself as Beth makes her smoothie with kale and yet the tree stares on.
"I am going to finish that book!" Me, as I write, right now, as the tree seems now larger more prominent than the cute thing it once was, for now it is a chore, not a pleasant reminder of Christmases past.
Cumbersome is the way I see it. The box she came in, for we have an inauthentic tree, barely made it up the stairs this year. I will inevitably push my luck for a 3rd year in a row to see how well the frayed cardboard and masking tape hold up. The ornaments have another place to go, the extra light strands taken off and properly place with the intentions of remembering all this next year. I am telling my future self to deal with it and he, like I was earlier this season, will resent me because of it.
"Ah why didn't I (former self) just organize this better instead of all this guess work?"
One would think I am crazy for the way I personify memories, resent behaviors of a slightly-younger self, swearing I would not do that sort of thing now.
I am me, he is me, my behaviors and approach to the setting-up and taking down of all the Christmas decorations is relatively the same. My wife has a hand in much of the storage, the only way these two trees got set up appropriately this year. Though I love Christmas, I also have this belief that, "Well, I will just set it here for now and get to it later." This idea rings noble at the time, but has less meaning in July when I have tripped over dismantled Christmas tree parts that lack the reminder of the richness the season provides.
"O Christmas Tree, how lovely are they branches." The thought passes through my mind as I am shoving the wire-and-green-plastic-pieces into the former square, now rounded cardboard box. I am too cheap to get one of those Christmas bags. She becomes naked, dismantled, shoved in a box and expected to perform next year. Expected to be picturesque, though the care for storage is minimal. How many people go into another friend's basement to get an extra-large tub of pretzels in storage to glance at the Christmas tree stored in the corner, sad, waiting.
The Christmas tree tradition of adorning our living areas, started in the late 1800s and over the years, slightly, we have altered the traditions, making them unique to our own family. One thing we can all detest is the dismantling of this once trophy-piece of the living room and as we go back to the start of something we assumed to be better than it was before.
Goodbye Christmas tree, We will see you next year.
Change in behaviors can be difficult, first you have to see the problem and take the small, consistent steps to change. For my story of altered behaviors, click Here.
When the tree was adorned, we did so with pride. We anticipated the day when it was appropriate in our household to display out artificially, green representation of outdoor foliage, indoors. For those with the real trees your has not been up as long, but the scenario is still the same. The ornaments delicately placed the branches, bits and pieces of nostalgia all unwrapped from their perfect little place to previous years. The lights strung as symmetrically and evenly from top to bottom as possible. The various unique takes on themed trees to haphazard trees with the help of kids. All the elements of our lives alongside other pieces of holiday memorabilia, now staring at you, reminding you of the chore yet to come.The tree must come down. The end is here. No longer are we allowed to binge on overly-rich foods as the pain of those last few choices hangs on. We cannot live on to the nostalgia of December 5th, for it is now a month later and here we are, older, fatter, yet with a new resolve.
"I resolve to procrastinate less!" One man demands for the new year. Yet, his tree stands still, almost dusty, on January 12th.
"I am going to lose 20 pounds this year!" A noble challenge to herself as Beth makes her smoothie with kale and yet the tree stares on.
"I am going to finish that book!" Me, as I write, right now, as the tree seems now larger more prominent than the cute thing it once was, for now it is a chore, not a pleasant reminder of Christmases past.
Cumbersome is the way I see it. The box she came in, for we have an inauthentic tree, barely made it up the stairs this year. I will inevitably push my luck for a 3rd year in a row to see how well the frayed cardboard and masking tape hold up. The ornaments have another place to go, the extra light strands taken off and properly place with the intentions of remembering all this next year. I am telling my future self to deal with it and he, like I was earlier this season, will resent me because of it.
 |
| The inevitable resting place until November of the next year. |
One would think I am crazy for the way I personify memories, resent behaviors of a slightly-younger self, swearing I would not do that sort of thing now.
I am me, he is me, my behaviors and approach to the setting-up and taking down of all the Christmas decorations is relatively the same. My wife has a hand in much of the storage, the only way these two trees got set up appropriately this year. Though I love Christmas, I also have this belief that, "Well, I will just set it here for now and get to it later." This idea rings noble at the time, but has less meaning in July when I have tripped over dismantled Christmas tree parts that lack the reminder of the richness the season provides.
"O Christmas Tree, how lovely are they branches." The thought passes through my mind as I am shoving the wire-and-green-plastic-pieces into the former square, now rounded cardboard box. I am too cheap to get one of those Christmas bags. She becomes naked, dismantled, shoved in a box and expected to perform next year. Expected to be picturesque, though the care for storage is minimal. How many people go into another friend's basement to get an extra-large tub of pretzels in storage to glance at the Christmas tree stored in the corner, sad, waiting.
 |
| If the Christmas tree was a person: She is beautiful, not because we want her to be, because she is. |
Goodbye Christmas tree, We will see you next year.
Change in behaviors can be difficult, first you have to see the problem and take the small, consistent steps to change. For my story of altered behaviors, click Here.
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