Wednesday, December 12, 2007
This picture of the Yvestown mini Christmas tree enchants me. As we're living in a fairly small (cramped) apartment right now, management dictates that we have a fake Christmas tree. It's rather disappointing as I grew up with gorgeous real Christmas trees. You know, the ones that smell like Christmas! Andrew on the other hand grew up with a fake Christmas tree. So, our present constraints aren't limiting to him at all. Our mini fake Christmas tree stands up against our bookcase, sporting garlands and pinecones and great big red ornaments to fill in the bare spots and our small horde of precious and unique ornaments give it some personality. Andrew likes this Christmas tree. A lot. It doesn't matter that it doesn't smell, or look, or feel like a real tree. I've come to learn that fake Christmas trees were very important to his childhood. It wasn't that it was plastic and collected moth balls the other 11 months of the year. He found magic in that tree, it was in the beauty of the twinkle lights and the bubbler ornaments, and the way the presents looked under it's limbs. He would create fantastic stories about his Christmas tree. These stories usually involved a number of GI Joes and a pressing mission that would take them up and down the steep Christmas tree terrain, avoiding the dangers of the evil ornaments.
Some day I dream of having the freedom and space to put up a real Christmas tree. But, until that time, I will make do with the blessings of our little fake Christmas tree. I guess it's not all fake.