'Tis The Season

Last week, when finally finished decorating the tree I stripped of lights three times before the distribution was acceptable, I stepped back. After taking a good look from every angle, I decided that only my mother would recognize the one flaw in an otherwise perfect tree.

My mother loved Christmas and coveted her holiday tree. She would take days to drape each individual strand of tinsel. One year I decided to help and was met with one of the harshest admonitions received from one who was usually just a bit more laid back. My stepfather rushed to my defense, but she set him straight too. He couldn’t touch the tree either. It seems her OCD kicked in hardest when there was a piece of pine in the house.

Like all the Snell children, I love this most festive time of year, because my grandfather made it so special for all of us. He would buy the biggest tree on the lot and throw everything on it. According to my grandmother, my mother and her big sister would fix the tree when he was done. I have memory of only one tree that Daddy decorated. It was atrocious. I never let him touch another one.

At 10, tree-decorating duty at my grandparent’s house became my sole responsibility. I started off shaky. Those first few trees weren’t much better than Daddy’s last attempt, but by the fifth year they were being praised by anyone who passed by the Sixth Avenue picture window. Even my mother was impressed, but she usually found something on my tree to fix; usually something I’d already noticed, but decided no one else would. Her eye for detail was sickening.

When I was conceptualizing this tree, I knew I would be decorating for two and promised myself it would be as close to perfect as God would allow. Everyone who comes through the door says it is just that… perfect. Yet, as I sit here listening to this eclectic holiday play list, featuring some of Darline’s favorites, I wish she could walk through the door and point out that flaw.

Darline's Tree 1981