Half of a Christmas Tree

In John Grisham’s book “Skipping Christmas” a couple tries to do so and almost succeed until they discover that there is no avoiding the holiday and if you try, it will force itself into your life anyway. For the first time in my life I’d just assume skip it this year.

In times gone by Christmas was huge in this house. Two trees were set up one with white lights and one with colored ones. Manger scenes were scattered everywhere. White lights adorned the Red-tips in the front yard. Christmas music played constantly.

Last year was the swan song of it all. I decorated the tree for the first time by myself because I wanted it to be a surprise. It was I guess but there was little joy in the world. We’d taken to going to St. Martin for the actual celebration so Christmas was white sand, blue skies and aqua-blue Ocean. And we did again and that was the last time that I was part of … whatever it was we had become.

So going through the motions of putting up a tree this year just didn’t seem all that appealing since it is a celebration of the anniversary of what used to be. It’s not like Goddess is going to especially appreciate it. But my Mom was determined and used every one of a Mother’s manipulative ploys to guilt me into doing it. So yesterday I did.

It was melancholic and “Christmas time is here” from “A Charlie Brown Christmas” alternated with Wyndman Hill’s “Snow is lightly falling” as perfect background music. It was so sad that Goddess teared up.

So I drug out the tree and the box of ornaments (there used to be boxes of them). I set up the tree and got it all ready then plugged it in. Half the lights worked. I shook my head and told myself, “Well isn’t that apropos!”

Then I opened the box and inspected what was left and what was missing. It took me a long time.

I started with the one that I have always started with. When I was a kid my Mom brought home this kit of wooden “Charlie Brown” ornaments that needed to be painted. Angi, David and I sat around the kitchen table in Port Wentworth giving complete attention to painting them and then, once dried,” hanging them on the tree. I don’t remember how I ended up with “Snoopy sitting on top of a snow man” but it is the one from my childhood.

Next was one that my aunt made out of one of my Grandfather’s ties. Then a Celtic cross that Mary Ann Beil gave me and an ornate one that Susan Watts gave me. Then everything else was one half of the places where we used to go together.

“I should just decorate half the tree,” I said to Goddess at one point. “Wouldn’t that be funny?”

Someone was pounding on the door so I walked down the stairs and there stood Chuck Courtenay. He is a musician who has raised musicians and now performs in nursing homes and at Hospices. My favorite story of his is at a Hospice when a dying man asked to sing the song that he and wife loved. Chuck launched into “I can’t get no satisfaction” and the dying man cried and sang to the top of his lungs. The nurses came flying into the room to see what was wrong, saw the man crying and singing, and joined in.

What a beautiful way to die.

We’ve been friends for many years. He was staying in the apartment and we met Johnny O and Judy for the lighting of the Christmas bush (Tybee obviously can’t afford a tree in this economy), then we made our way for dinner and drinks and talked into the evening. Carols were being sung and stockings were hung in the bars. Johnny O and Chuck told old stories and I told Judy about the Christmas tree.

When I got home there were texts from what used to be. I said what I needed to say. I read what needed to be read. Then I sighed and looked at the tree.

I grabbed my I-pod and found Jim Croce. “Snowy nights and Christmas lights, icy window pains; Make me wish that we could, be together again.”

Then I decorated the other half of the tree.