Christmas Trees Revisited

December 25, 2013
Gift to Mom

Christmas Trees Revisited

I’m almost 49 years old. Without fail, I’ve had at least one Christmas tree every year of my life. I can safely estimate that I’ve had 50 different trees. I love a finished, decorated tree. Whether live or fake, skinny or fat, I’ve loved all of them once they were up and decorated. Turning on the lights each day brings instant non-caloric gratification.

I never, ever started scrapbooking because I’d spend WAYYYY too much money on supplies and then never make the books! And then I’d feel wasteful and guilty. Flipping through my virtual scrapbook, a casual observer would notice that most every tree looks alike. Trees had colored and white lights, tinsel icicles until I married. White lights only after marriage.

Martha Stewart wannabes, close your ears, please. I only really remember about 4 trees and it’s because they were IMPERFECT!

I posted this picture and this comment on FB last week

If you angle your head just right this 5000 pound tree is straight. (Shay Shay Ryder--I didn't need weight training today after all.)#impatientstubbornstrongerthanithought

I had this grand idea that my 12 year old and I would be able to straighten the tree without taking it out of the stand. Not possible.

Those with serious OCD issues will want to avoid my home this year. We’ve named this year:

2013, The Leaning Tree of Clarkville.

I laugh constantly when I see the star at the top at it’s 37 degree angle. (No, I didn’t actually get out a protractor.) Much more it reminded me of how very much I am like my mother. I love pretty trees. In the end, I’m just practical.

It was 1971 and flocked trees were all the rage. I have no idea how much they cost back then, I just know that if my Mom said, “I am NOT paying that much for a tree!”, we weren’t getting one on the lot. There was no googling how to flock your own Christmas tree—no way to watch someone else mess up on YouTube. Nope, Vae Hudgins had borrowed the Woodsen’s canister vacuum cleaner and bought a kit from either K & B’s or Schwegmanns. 

Conjuring up the memories, Mom and I decided that we did, indeed go one evening as family to choose the flocked tree. No purchase was made once the price was discovered. So on another day, she and I folded down all the back seats in the station wagon and went out buy our tree. She got the cheapest scotch pine tree we could find and headed home with it pushed into the back of our metallic beige Pontiac Catalina Safari.

I know now that all 5 foot 3 and half inches of her pulled that tree out of the car and managed to get that prickly tree upright on the back porch all while wearing her pantsuit with the brown and white polka dotted top. That week’s trip to the beauty shop included a fresh frosting on her hair. Unwilling to get additional flocking highlights, she wrapped a scarf around her head. We have an 8mm movie that illustrates my determined mother doing all the work, while her darling children laugh at her. If the projector still worked we could use the original screen purchased in the 60’s and see her. There she would be cat eye glasses dotted with homemade snow transforming the tree into something even better than what we’d seen at the lot.

 Many years passed and we’d moved to Kingwood, Texas. We had a cathedral ceiling in our den. I have no memory or details in the acquisition of the tree. I just know that trees were beginning to get more expensive and Mom, again, was simply not going to pay for a large tree. No memory of helping get it in the house or putting in the stand or making sure that it was straight. I simply saw that tree in the den and with no malice towards any of my Jewish friends then or now, I named it “The Hanukkah Bush”! Based on current experience with a pre-teen, I believe it’s fair to assume that I was relentless with my complaining and ridicule. (Sidebar….it’s never too late to say, I’m sorry. “Sorry, Mom.”)

Long memory intact, BOTH Mom and I were determined to get a tree worthy of our large room in 1981. Trees were even more expensive than in 1980. We had long since sold off the station wagons. Mom had a dark blue 1977 Delta 88.

Mom determined that if we went to an area of Houston with a lower income populace, then we might find a large, affordable tree. She picked me up from school and drove south on I59.

She was correct. We found a gorgeous fir tree at a fraction of what it would have cost in our area. Our joint memories still recall that it was over $100. The salesman was pleased. We were thrilled. I don’t recall how long it took to tie that tree onto the four door sedan. I remember vividly, however, that the tree extended from the hood ornament to the trailer hitch.

There was space for Mom to see---if she kept her head in the same position the whole ride home.

It was just prior to the peak of rush hour. Cars were moving. We traveled slower than the fastest moving car. We were about halfway home when without warning, one of the plastic ropes broke and our magnificent tree went flying off the back of the car.

I screamed and burst into wailing tears. I wasn’t at all concerned about having some sort of accident, I was concerned that OUR TREE WOULD BE RUINED!!

Mom, despite her histrionic teenager, pulled the car over to the side of the road. She opened the car door. Without MY permission and without warning, she waited for a clearing of cars and RAN towards the tree. With one swift and decisive move she pulled the tree off the interstate. I know this to be true because of the very large burn mark on the bottom side of the fir.

I did NOT see the entirety of her heroic rescue because I was HIDING on the floorboard of the passenger side of the Delta 88! I was crying and praying, “Dear God, DO NOT LET ANYONE I KNOW SEE MY MOTHER!”

My vivid recollections stop shortly after my pleas to God. Somehow my mother, tiny Vae, former Girl Scout leader used what rope she could salvage and got that tree back on the car and into the house. No cell phone. No roadside assistance. NO help once we were home. I, of course, had to recover from the trauma of the tree experience. I’m guessing Dad must have helped once home from work.

The road burn was carefully placed towards the back of the wall. Once in place, it was indeed a marvelous tree. Much more, it was the tree that will live on in our memories.

Mom, I thank you for suffering through my dramatic mood swings and my loud protests over insignificant details. But, thanks for always doing your best to make sure that holidays and birthdays--even dinner each night were enjoyable and beautiful.

Thanks for teaching me that saving money makes us better stewards of what we have. When we have more than we need we can share more easily and generously with others.

Thanks for teaching me to make the most out of everything. During lean years, I was grateful that I knew how to use coupons and shop specials. I was able to make gifts that were beautiful and appreciated from what little I could scrape together in cash and supplies.

Thanks for getting things finished. You cooked at least two full meals a day, which meant you shopped and planned those meals. You cleaned the house and sewed most all of our clothes. All the while you had what amounted to a full time volunteer ministry through Bible Study Fellowship. Even after the tree event, I’d guess that you had dinner ready by the time Dad got home from work.

Most of all, thanks for teaching me that sometimes you just have to pull yourself together and do what’s necessary—whether it’s teaching yourself to flock a tree, or pulling a gigantic tree off the freeway. I’m grateful that I inherited your resolve and your strength. I never imagined my life would turn out this way. How grateful I am your daughter.

More, I’ve been on the receiving end of your faith and your prayers. I know that you’ve always believed in me. You’ve always loved me and shown me the love that Christ offers is the best gift we can receive.

The Leaning Tree of Clarkville was knocked over by Catniss a couple of weeks ago. Most of the ornaments were broken. I cried over only two of them. One I made during cash starved years. The other was a nativity ceramic ornament you gave us the year Richard and I got engaged. It had always been a reminder each year of the two things I value most: Emmanuel and family. The ornament was beyond repair. But those relationships symbolized in white ceramic are forged stronger because of suffering, joy, and years of work. How grateful I am for growth and redemption.

Merry Christmas, Mom. I love you more in this year of 2013 than I’ve ever loved you. I look forward to the next time when I can confidently say that I love you more than at this given moment.