My Tree and Me

When I was five, I made a Christmas tree ornament in kindergarten. A small mitten, made of red crepe paper, with tiny silver stars glued on it. Though most of the stars have fallen off, the mitten has survived and has taken center stage on my Christmas tree for 78 years.

  This year I got my tree at Whole Foods for $69, a great price considering that similar trees along Broadway are going for $150. The catch is you can’t ask the guy to give the tree a shake to see its shape. You must buy it all tied up, sight unseen. Turns out that this is one of the prettiest trees I’ve ever had.

  Christmas trees have always been an important part of my holiday. The taller and fuller the better. My mother taught me how to hand the lights—in circular fashion from top to bottom, and the decorations—one by one, small ones at the top, large ones at the bottom, to give the tree a balanced look. I taught my kids to do the same thing and they’ve, in turn, taught theirs.

  Though I’ve loved having my kids help to trim the tree, now that they’re grown up, I’m on my own. After placing the tree at the far end of the living room, between the two windows and near the electrical outlet, Richard helps me put it in the tree stand and holds it steady, while I get down on my hands and knees to tighten the screws. Then, before removing the ties, I stand back to make it’s as straight as an arrow. Next, after removing the ties, I water the tree with four cups of warm, sugared water to help its branches relax into their natural position. It can take up to 24 hours before the branches are ready to be decorated.

  First, I set an ivory-and-gold winged angel, atop the tree; I bought it some 15 years ago at the St. John the Divine gift shop. Then comes the tangle of lights that are just like the lights my mother had—a mix of red, blue, green, yellow and orange bulbs. No blinking white pea lights for me. I buy the lights at the hardware store on 109th street and Broadway and have four sets, 20 lights to a set, that need to be tested to make sure they work. I usually have to replace five or six of them before stringing them on the tree. Up and down the ladder I go, stepping back occasionally to make sure the lights are equally distanced from one another. Is a red bulb too close to another red bulb? A blue too close to another blue? Are there gaps that need to be filled?

  Next come the decorations. I place my treasured red mitten in the center of the tree. Then the bells, birds , santas, sleds, stars and snowmen, and balls in all colors and sizes. Starting at the top and making my way down to the bottom branches, I hang them all. Once again, I step back to assess. Then, with a final flourish, I find room for the hand-painted wooden cut-outs my children made in elementary school, the handmade items that dear friends have brought me from their travels, and the paper cut-outs of birds from my friends in Great Barrington.

  When I’m sure that the tree is pretty enough from three sides—no need to decorate its back—I sit down to admire my handiwork, my feet up on the foot stool, a dry martini in one hand and a piece of French Brie in the other. Gazing lovingly at the tree, I recall my favorite ritual on Christmas Eve—preparing a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich for Santa, and leaving it next to the tree with a glass of milk. I figured lots of people left Santa some food because he’d always leave part of it uneaten. But he must have been thirsty, because he always drank the whole glass of milk.

  Today, I no longer leave food for Santa but, with drink in hand, I put on my favorite thing Dave Brubeck Christmas album and dance in the glow of the tree lights. I don’t know where the energy comes from; an hour earlier I didn’t have the wherewithal to go down to the lobby to get the mail. Yet here I am, an 84 year old, moving my body on feet that suddenly feel like twinkle toes.

  For that brief moment, life is good. Just my tree and me.