Jersey Shore Magazine

J e r s e y s h o r e • F A L L / H O L I D A Y 2 0 1 5 82 HOME PORT continued on page 78 The Family Tree by Christine Menapace A nd so it was done. The white lights. The gold garland. The strings of cranberry colored beads. The Christmas tree. Every year it tops my annual love/hate list. Before Thanksgiving leftovers are even cold, it begins to loom: that very big "to do" on the seemingly never ending "to do" list of December. Fellow women, you know what I mean. It's all about lists, lists, and more lists, especially in December. Surprisingly, it was two men who wrote that Santa was "making a list and checking it twice." No dears, that was actually Mrs. Claus, the woman behind the man. But I digress. There are just so many things about putting up the tree that simply aren't fun: 1) Coordinating a free half hour when our gigantic family of four can synchronize our highly complex schedules to go get the tree. 2) The noises of com- plaint my husband makes securing the tree to our car when he realizes the bungee cords don't stretch far enough. 3) Hauling the endless boxes of decorations up from the basement. 4) Getting the tree in the house. 5) Putting the tree in the stand. 6) Cleaning up the pine needles and trying (unsuccessfully) to get the sap off everyone's hands. 7) Plugging in the lights. 8) Finding out the lights no longer work due to the inex- plicable dark magic of storage. 9) Going to buy new lights. 10) Putting the new lights on the tree. 11) Deciding we need yet more lights and going back to the store. 12) Putting on more lights. 13) Wrapping various other decorations—such as garland, beads, and strings of popcorn on the tree until, like a spi- der preserving its meal, you have it fully encased. Then again, there are the fun things too: 1) The jovial bickering about which tree to select in which the family propensity for obsessive-compulsive disorder flies like a freak flag. 2) The look on the tree seller's face as my husband jerry rigs the tree to the car. "So how far do you have to go?" he asks politely. 3) Rediscovering beloved ornaments, the unwrapping of each one like a small gift. 4) Seeing the sheer joy on my children's faces as they deco- rate the tree and dance jigs around it with barely contained excitement. 5) The smell of pine in the house. 6) Turning off all the house lights for the big reveal, which never disappoints. 7) Reveling in the tree's beauty for several weeks. When I say beauty, I fully realize it is in the eyes of the beholder. Every year, my tree reaches a point where it has the potential for perfec- tion. It is still devoid of clutter. It still resembles a living thing of nature. I have put on the elegantly beautiful crocheted snow- flakes and white lights, and I just want to stop. Or maybe add just one more element. The heirloom silver Christmas balls my husband's grandmother gave him each year. Or perhaps a collection of bird ornaments? I think of the potential for a truly stunning, coordinated tree, but before the thought is fully formed, the moment is already gone, fleeting. My children have seized the day and are assaulting the tree with misshapen, glitter-soaked handmade treasures, given with love and pride through the years. My husband and son are shouting with glee as they unearth their favorite ornament and my most hated: a gargantuan snowman, dressed as a beer bellied Irishman, holding a huge mug of beer. They know I can't stand it, which is why they love it. They place it front and center. My six year old daughter, meanwhile, is working at a cross purposes with the dog. She's filling the now drooping branches with five or so ornaments apiece, while the dog's tail is knocking the ornaments off the lower half of the tree. I can't beat them, so I join them. And there it is. The wooly sheep ornament I bought my husband our first Christmas together to mark our first trip together. To Ireland. Where otherwise bucolic scenes of sheep grazing were marred by messy blue dots spray-painted on each and every sheep. I had similarly defaced the ornament, yet the blue dot had faded in eighteen years. I find the tiny musical instrument ornaments—the piano, electric guitar, and acoustic guitar—bought when Adam88xx

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