The Christmas tree wars

In my family, the length of time our Christmas tree stayed up after Christmas correlated strongly with my mother's age. As she got older, she was less inclined to want to make the effort to dismantle everything and put it away. She even began to hint that it wouldn't be so bad if the tree stayed up all year round, would it? We were scandalized, but she would accept no help in putting things away. "You wouldn't do it right," she would say.


We were the only ones we knew who had an Ides of March tree in the living room. We considered buying red, white, and blue ornaments in case the tree was still up in July.


I thought of this the other day when I wondered how long we could keep our tree up. "I'm not ready to take it down," I declared to the Hero. "It seems like we just put it up."


"That's okay -- it can stay up 'til January 6," he said.


"What happens after that date?" I asked. "The tree spontaneously combusts?"


"I wish," he said fervently.


The tree is not universally loved in our house, at least not THIS tree. It's too tall, Scrooge complains. It's too poofy. It gets in the way of the electronics stuff. There's no good place to store it. It doesn't smell like a real tree.


For a couple of years now Scrooge has attempted to convince me to exchange our tree for a different one, putting forth the virtues of small trees. Short trees. Skinny trees. Table trees.


If someone invented a microscopic tree, he would want it.


Another Christmas tree debate exists at a Male Relative's house, where there is an ongoing disagreement over whether to have a traditional, use-whatever-ornaments-have-been-in-the-attic-for-three-decades-as-long-as-they-don't-match-tree, or a "designer" tree with a  particular color scheme, beautiful hand-blown glass ornaments, satiny ribbon, numerous Do Not Touch signs, etc.


Traditionally the designer tree, favored by the Male Relative, has won out over the simple tree preferred by the Female Relative. The effect, though striking, is somewhat diminished by the necessity of keeping the bottom two feet of the tree completely bare, lest the Cat Relatives -- who disdain Do Not Touch signs -- be tempted to play with the pretty baubles.


But the Female Relative has never relinquished all her cherished, mismatched ornaments, keeping them in a box for the day when she will be triumphant. In the meantime little skirmishes are waged in this war. This year I spotted a lone, humble snowman on their tree amidst all the fancy ornaments. The Male Relative was blissfully unaware of the intruder until someone brought it to his attention. 


"Hmmmph," he said.


As for our own tree dilemma, maybe someday I will see the merits of a skinnier tree. Or maybe Scrooge will make peace with the too-tall, too-poofy tree. And maybe someday my mother will take her tree down.