My Arbitrary Christmas Tree...

Every Christmas, since Bob died—this coming will make number three—I am absolutely certain I won't be "into" Christmas this year, that I'll quietly go into hibernation and  let it pass without fanfare. And each year, at the most random time, I'll get hit—make that blindsided—by the damn Christmas Spirit, and eventually have to succumb to the overwhelming desire to have to go out, now and get a tree, or pass out from the sheer anxiety of not doing it, which then sets this whole blessed mess into motion.

This year's random blindside moment couldn't have been more timely—it happened just before the Arctic freeze settled into Minnesota for a long winter's nap. There I was, sitting at my desk, snuggled into a blanket, minding my own business while working on a major assignment due this week, when out of nowhere, BAM! I absolutely had to stop typing and go out and get a tree—now, dammit! The past two Christmases, I've gone to Kruger's Christmas Trees in Lake Elmo and have been drawn to short, stout, adorable (read: easily handled by short, stout, adorable redhead) Fraser firs, but this year, with Thanksgiving so late and the cold settling in too soon, I found myself dreading this little tradition that I'd started a few years ago, and even started eyeballing my pathetic Boston fern, shedding dried out, crusty leaves in the corner of my dining room, as a possible Christmas tree understudy. I am still purging, downsizing, reorganizing, reinventing my life here in St. Paul, and the though of trying to fit a damn Christmas tree into this already crammed-full apartment sent me into mini-panic attacks. . .

But there I was, working on this paper—maybe writer's block had something to do with it. Or undiagnosed, unmedicated ADD—when suddenly, I had to get a tree. NOW!!! It was dark, the temps were plummeting, winds threatening to pick up—if I didn't go right away, who knows when, if ever, I'd have the guts to head out. Without changing out of the pajamas I'd been in since the night before (I know, right? uggg! It's finals week, peeps!), I grabbed my coat, purse, keys, jumped into the Jeep and headed down to my local Ace Hardware on Dale and Grand, where I had seen trees stacked in front of the building a few days prior.

Lemme tell you one thing: Ace Hardware ain't Kruger's. Not by a long shot. If you're looking for a beautiful, memorable Christmas tree experience, go to Krugers, frozen tundra or no. Even if you don't cut your own, Kruger's ambiance, setting, hot chocolate, friendly and knowledgeable staff and sustainability philosophies make the experience so worth it. It's a 4-generation, local business, you know that your tree is grown on site, and is replaced, recycled, renewed, year after year . . . cycle of life. . . the year Bob died, the son of the founder of Krueger's, 2nd generation, had just died, also from cancer, if I remember correctly . . . No offense to Ace, but all they have is a bunch of trees, bound up like Christmas hams, crammed in a lot staffed by a teenage kid who will say ummm, I don't know to any questions you ask, and when he hacks off a couple inches from the trunk, he will ask you if it looks okay . . . you're taking your chances, 'sall I'm saying, basing your choice on something greenish, tree-ish, hog-tied and suffocating for God knows how long. But, for thirty bucks and sub-zero temps and gale-force winds literally on the horizon, it didn't seem like a bad deal. I'll just wait to decorate until the tree thawed out and revealed its full glory or deformities, I thought. I am not above cramming this tree back into my Jeep and returning it, should it thaw out into an evergreen nightmare. All about principle, right?

Long story even longer, the tree thawed out just fine—it's far taller than any tree I've had in the past, but it's full and lusciously gin-smelling (or is it gin that smells like pine?), and before I could schedule an exorcism, I had all my Rubbermaid tubs dragged out from the basement and was decorating like an elf goofed up on eggnog.

I was going to stick with a simple theme for my tree this year, thinking I'd keep the decorating and effort to a minimum. I'd only hang ornaments that were predominantly white and/or silver.  I did a pretty good job with that, except that some decorations that were not predominantly silver and/or white made me feel wistful or happy or sad or nostalgic, or whatever, and before I knew it, I was making all kinds of exceptions, for red, purple and blue . . . and gold, green and a bit of yellow, too . . . for the owls, and then for the hideous 70's ornaments Bob's mom gave him as a kid . . . do arbitrary if you must—grief, life, love is arbitrary—but allow room for arbitrary exceptions to those arbitrary rules. . . exceptions to the rules are always good. . . I love my tree, love this season, love to you all . . .