De-Christmafied

Not so merry now, is it?

It's been twelve days since Christmas, and on the twelfth day my true love gave to me a house de-Christmafied. The wreaths are down, the ornaments have been boxed and put away until next year. And the tree has been kicked to the curb.

As I wrote about here a couple years ago, I've always had kind of a love/hate relationship with our Christmas tree. On one antler, I love the fun, hopeful and joyous spirit it brings to the house during the season.

On the other, I always see it taking the house down in flames.

I'm always sad to see the holidays end, but this time it was less of an ending and more an act of mercy. Our tree stopped drinking water about the third day we had it, and it was dry to the touch and slightly brown. Plus the needles had started to fall all over the place. And since Santa didn't bring me a new vacuum, I wasn't particularly excited about that development.

That's not our tree in the picture, but it may as well be. It's one of the many you'll see lining the curbs if you drive down my block today. All ghosts of Christmas past, they're waiting for the city trucks to come by tomorrow morning starting at 6:30 to pick them up.

There is of course still the matter of the lights that decorate the exterior of the house. The further away from Christmas we get, the fewer houses still have their lights on at night. We happen to be one of those houses. But the lights don't have a shelf life like the tree does, so they're always the final act in the de-Christmafying process.

So tomorrow, when the recycling truck driver takes the tree
Then gives his team a whistle
They'll fly past the homes like the down of a thistle
And I'm sure I'll hear him say as he drives until night
Merry Christmas to all, let's get this trash out of sight.

Christmas lights

They say the two happiest days of owning a boat are the day you buy it and the day you get rid of it. I think the same can be said for Christmas trees. I know what you're thinking. Why's the Jewboy talking about buying Christmas trees?

I'll tell you why.

For starters, I love the trees. The fresh scents, the lights, the decorations. I also happen to be married to a woman who isn't a member of the tribe, so Christmas has always been the big December holiday in our house for as long as I can remember. And not to advance any stereotypes here, but I'm pretty good at math. 8 days of Hanukkah, 12 days of Christmas.

After four years of Hebrew school, a bar mitzvah and dating enough Jewish girls who made "till death do us part" sound more like a goal than a vow, I decided to opt in for a holiday a little more festive than what I'd grown up with, even if the point of the celebration wasn't exactly in my wheelhouse (although He was a member of the tribe, just saying).

Plus why would I limit myself to just blue and white lights when I can have so many different colors?

Anyway, every year we go to Brita's nursery in Seal Beach, and re-enact Goldilocks & The Three Bears as we pick out our perfect tree. "This one's too small." "This one's too large." "This one's just right."

But the secret about Christmas trees is that the exact moment it's up, decorated and ready to be enjoyed is the exact moment my 6000-year (5775 to be exact) history of worrying kicks in.

Has the tree been watered? Is it taking the water? Are the pine needles dry? Why is it dropping so many? Did we turn off the tree lights when we left? Is it going to go up in flames and take the house with it? And can the presents be saved if it does?

After a minute of standing back and admiring it, the moment has passed, my mind is spinning and I can't wait until it's out of the house (which is also how I felt about my high school girlfriend).

Every day we have to vacuum the needles that've dropped so the puppy doesn't eat them. Suddenly, what started out as a joy and spirit-lifting visage has become something I can't wait to get rid of (girlfriend joke again).

Sometime after New Year's, long after everyone else has taken their tree down, we'll finally get around to putting the hand-made, antique, mercury glass, Salzburg-bought decorations away, then kick the tree to the curb for the recycling truck to come take it.

It's sad thinking about something that brought me so much joy - although briefly - being gone so suddenly. To snap myself out of it, I just do what I did when it first got here. Stand back, look where it stood and admire the pure beauty and joy of what I see.

All the living room space I get back.

Rein it in

It's that time of year again. Actually it's been that time of year since before Halloween.

Every Christmas season, the assault on our senses begins - bad commercials blaring out of the television and radio, all touting money-saving Christmas sales. Plastic Christmas trees at Costco. Indifferent, tired Santas at the malls. Salvation Army troops ringing that damn bell at me on every corner. Crowds at the post office. Another Mariah Carey Christmas album.

But I manage to take most of it in stride, and in fact even enjoy some of it. Whether it's despite of it or because of it, I usually find some way to get into the true spirit of the season.

However there is one pet peeve I have about Christmas: car antlers.

Granted, it's a seasonal pet peeve, but still. For some reason I don't think it's saying what the drivers of these oversized clown cars think it's saying.

As a rule you don't see this Christmas car decor on more upscale models. So Mr. PT Cruiser and Mrs. Hyundai Accent, I'm sorry you have to hear it this way, but you already look foolish enough without the antlers. Or the nose. Or the wreath on the grill.

Here's an idea: instead of spending the money on car decorations, spend it on gas and drive over to a nearby neighborhood that has a Christmas Tree Lane. You know, one where each house tries to outdo the next. Oooh and aahhh at the bright, colorful decorations.

Then drive home, secure in the knowledge that other Christmas revelers are laughing with you instead of at you.

Once you've come to your senses about decorating your car, if the urge to decorate something is still so overwhelming and you know resistance will be futile, may I suggest adding more lights to the tree.

Or the chimney.

Perhaps a few more ornaments on the mantle.

Or more stockings.

The point is, let's get the thought of putting antlers on something out of your head

Before you do something you know you'll regret.

9/11