For the first time in my adult life, I have a real Christmas tree. I think I was the first person at the Disco Kroger to buy a tree, and I think the guys setting them up must've thought I was crazy, I was so eager and happy. I was supposed to get one last year, but was on road trips for at least 3 consecutive weekends at this time of year. By the time I could look at trees, I touched them and all of the needles fell off. This year, I bought one the Sunday after Thanksgiving. It rode shotgun on the way home. I'm pretty sure it's name is Eugene even though it seems like a girl. Then again, in my neighborhood, sometimes you can't be sure.
Even though I have a few modern ornaments that are nouveau-sentimental (yeah, I just made that up) and match ones I got for my brother, some vintage rummage-sale finds, and a few mirrored atomic stars by Houston artist Hepcat Raphael, they won't be on my tree this year. Eugene is decked out solely in ornaments passed to me by my Gramma. Her birthday fell on the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe (another coincidental reason why she was awesome), and she would've been 96 this December.
I didn't hide the light cord, but I never look at it with a camera flash either. My Gramma's old tree lights are on my porch, some of them blinking at random intervals. I used the old-school lights my Daddy gave me for the tree.
There'll be no presents under my tree this year. I don't really want or need much of anything. I've sold, given to friends, donated to charity, consigned, and left on the curb so many things lately- and I'm not even done yet. I've instructed everyone to just pay their bills and buy for their kids & be happy. Last year, the only tangible thing I wanted was a boot jack, and I got a vintage one in the most precious manner. This year, I'll just enjoy my tree. It's like having fresh flowers in tree form for less than $5 a week, covered in memories and love.
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