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My husband and I celebrated our fourth anniversary in September of this year. We just put up our first Christmas tree last week.

Not that I didn’t want one; my Mom was one of those “deck the halls, the walls, the floors, the doors, and everything in between” people. She had accumulated about ten mega-sized storage crates full of Christmas ornaments, wreaths, lights, garlands, nativities, snowmen, angels, pillows, throws, wall hangings, mistletoe, etc. She had an entire set of holiday dishes. Maybe two, actually… She even had a crate labeled “Holiday Wardrobe,” which I assume is where all those reindeer-covered sweaters resided during the other eleven months of the year.

A Family Tradition

I loved Christmas at home. Maybe we were traditional, but we loved it. At least my Mom and my sister and I did. Dad cooperated. So I got married. I moved out. My parents came to visit for Thanksgiving. We had turkey, dressing, the whole nine-American-yards. They went back home. December came. I looked around and realized I had nothing that said holiday anywhere in my possession. I went to the library and checked out CDs of Christmas music. I baked cookies. I felt better, but I wanted a tree.

Enter husband

Me: “Honey, when do you want to go get our Christmas tree?”
Him: “Do what?”
Me: “You know, Christmas tree! We have to have a Christmas tree!”
Him: “Why?”
Me: “Um…”

We had a few more conversations like the one above. I couldn’t come up with a reason that satisfied my anti-traditional, somewhat hippie husband. And we really didn’t have any extra cash to spend on a tree, lights, and ornaments. I did talk him into chopping down a three-foot-high, scrawny cedar from the woods behind our house. It was secured in a planter with rocks to keep it upright and I decorated it with one strand of Christmas lights and dried hydrangeas left from our wedding. It looked cute, but it was nothing like my Mom’s.

A Grand Inheritance

Last year, when my Mom died, I inherited all ten of those crates of holiday fixings plus the artificial tree. My sister had already accumulated her own collection and didn’t need anymore. My husband kind of groaned, but he didn’t argue. We brought home what we could fit in our car: two crates full of fake tree branches, and one crate of lights and ornaments.

I like having the tree, but I realized something. The tree doesn’t mean anything. What meant something to me was the time and the comfort of being in my home, with my family, celebrating the fact that we were together, safe, warm, and happy. That is special, because not everyone has that. A lot of people who have Christmas trees don’t have that. I do. I have it again this year with my own family. Without my Mom, but with my husband and our two children.

Creating Holiday Traditions

So I am rethinking holiday traditions. I didn’t spend hundreds of dollars on Christmas decorations, but lots of people do before they really question why they’re going to put so much money and time into optional trimmings. Traditions are great, but only because of what they mean. They are reminders, rituals, memories; they are not sacrosanct, untouchable, holy ground. This year, I have chosen to incorporate a few of the traditions I enjoy into our family’s celebration. The rest are out the door.

Next year maybe we will do the same thing. Maybe we will do something totally different. What I’m looking for is the meaning that inspires the tradition; that’s the part I want to pull out, and hold onto, and carry with me into the future. The rest of it really is just trim on the tree.