A history of my love affair with Christmas

Growing up in Northern Michigan, I had easy access to that inimitable bastion of the holiday season: the Christmas tree. All that was required of us was an axe and a couple of strong backs to drag it back across the 40 acres to our rather miserable hovel.

Now just because we had easy access doesn't mean we always had a tree completely decked for the season. My father, never very interested in any holiday, would often put up some argument against said festive element. Granted, the house was so badly designed for space there really was no open spot to set a tree of respectable 3-4 ft diameter. But about every other year our pleas won out and we would happily hang our paltry little collection of ornaments: colored wax paper origami stars, sprinkled lightly with that old chunky glitter you don't see anymore, awful glue-smeared elementary school concoctions, and the dainty little ornaments that my nonna sent us most years.
Then we moved to Tucson. Our first winter there was spent in a 28' motor home. Yes, you read that right. Not a mobile home, but an actual motor home. In a trailer park. With 3 kids. And you wonder why I turned out subnormal? I don't remember what we had that year, i doubt as it was much of anything. But we had one reminder of the life we left behind- snow. Tucson rarely gets snow, but it snowed that year, Christmas day, 1987.

We kept that routine for seven more years- summer in Michigan, winter in Arizona. At least by then we had purchased a real (with running water!) house in the suburbs. It was a good setup, and over the next few years we started to become- dare I say- middle class. The little mall store that we operated began to trickle in just enough money that my mom usually allowed herself the luxury of a tree. I have only a dim memory of the last few trees there, as i worked an average of 85 hours per week as the holiday approached.
When we moved back to Michigan we lived once again in the squalid post & beam monstrosity my dad built. Even less now was room for a tree, let alone time or cheer for it. Retail had crept into our lives and taken over everything that could have once been magical about the holidays. Now it was all about how much we could sell, for how much profit, so that we could grow the business more. The year that my dad accidentally knocked 3 ornaments off the diminutive tree, sticking timidly out into the narrow space between couch and derelict fireplace, was the last year a tree was allowed in that house.
Happily for me, I was married a month later. With my new and wonderful husband I vowed to always let Christmas be the holiday that I envisioned- festive, colorful, & happy. Our first Christmas i was disgustingly pregnant and poor, but we managed to acquire a soft white pine tree and plenty of ornaments. Ignorant young things that we were, we ran our checking account grossly into the negative, but, my, it was a lovely tree!
Every year since then we have a had a tree of some sort. Over the past few years my collection of ornaments has evolved from blue and gold to more jewel tones. And the trees have all been memorable. There was the 14 footer that fell down with the most delicious crash ever, breaking most of my ornaments. There was the white pine that we strung so many lights on that one could see the glow seeping through the cracks in the window casements of our restoration home.
But last year was not kind to us. Laid off in November of 2006, Michael's prospects of finding a job before the end of the year were slim. He applied everywhere that he could think of, but no one wanted to hire. "Come back in January," they'd say, "we don't want to do paperwork for someone who will only work 3 weeks of this year." Or, "Sure we're hiring. Earliest interview in January."
Fresh Christmas trees in Columbus cost around $60. A decent tree stand costs about $15, and I couldn't bear buying one when I had (count 'em) three sitting in storage in Michigan. I couldn't justify the expense, not when we were existing on the charity of friends and family. My heart was heavy- would this be another wretched holiday like those of my past- aching feet, gift disappointment, my dad's monotone Bible readings for hours on end? It could not be. I had vowed to have festivity, and I would have festivity, damnit!
First I looked around for something to sell. Something, anything. I had already pawned my wedding diamonds for rent money. We had pawned our power tools for groceries. Mike's baseball card collection wasn't getting any takers, and the small amount of handmade jewelry that I had left would cost more to list on ebay than it would've made in profit. What else did I have? Frantic, I ran out into the garage for ideas. Nothing but trash, things we kept meaning to send to the recycling place.
So what did we do?
Find out next week, right here.