Forget Perfect, Just Celebrate


In the home of my childhood, the holiday decorating policy was simple: The more the better, but nothing tacky. I felt sorry for my friends with their spindly trees and beat-up cardboard crèches where the bedraggled sheep had broken ears and baby Jesus looked none too new .


It’s taken me many years to realize how wrong we were on so many counts. I don’t mean about other people; I mean about us.

For years as an adult, I spent time and energy trying to do the holidays bigger and better. And then it all became just too much. The world is in a tizzie and I should add to it by lugging eight boxes of gilded holiday finery down from the attic? I think not. So this is the Lean Year. No silly decorations. We’re going light on the fussiness. I mean who cares whether each little sparkly angel on the mantelpiece dances with a pinecone gnome or whether a few rogue gnomes dance with each other? Or that a china Santa is embedded in the collection of wooden Santas? Does Santa really care? Does God? I doubt it. I think they would both prefer — I may be taking too great a leap here, but come along with me — to see the mantel dusted first, either way.


And about paring down. First, dump the nutcracker collection: Someday someone’s going to actually use one and it will astound us all and work and they’ll eat the nut and have a full-out allergic attack and fall down dead in my living room. Next, bag those awful decorations the kids made when they were in nursery school. Those little clay things stuck with glitter and cotton balls all look the same. C’mon, admit it. That’s why they put your kid’s name and picture on it. If you took the picture off, replaced "Johnny" with "Ryan," would you ever know in a million years who made this thing? You certainly would not. You’d wonder who Ryan is. And if your child — that would be Johnny — were going to be Picasso, he’d be showing signs of it by now. Trust me. Toss it.

So, I’m thinking we might do as our ancestors did, what the Brits call "cheap and cheerful": generous boughs of pine, ah, borrowed from properties nearby, lots of berries from the same spot. Recycled ribbon. Poinsettias from the gas station. So, OK, the ancestors likely had no access to a gas station. Scratch the poinsettias. Or borrow a few from someone who has too many. That’s actually a favor. No one should want too many poinsettias.

I’m going the same way in the entertaining division. A few people in for drinks. Maybe lap food, nothing slidey or that needs heating. Cold, firm food. Nothing that the dog wants, either; I don’t want her swiping food from guests’ plates, even though she does it with precision speed and delicacy, quite an amazing thing to see, really. No champagne, in case someone gets hit in the eye with the cork and decides to sue. I worry it all sounds a little unappealing. But I don’t think anyone really expects good food at the holidays anyway.

Oh, and one last hint. Don’t take pictures. NO PICTURES! I’ll tell you why. Every year, we’d stomp into the woods and get a good tree. Of course every year it was the best tree we’d ever had. We knew that because my father pronounced it so, and he knew pretty much everything.

It was only a few years ago, when I started going through boxes of old holiday photos, that I realized how wrong the whole scene in my head was. Those magnificent trees were skinny and somewhat skewed. And, could it be?? They are draped in tinsel. Tinsel? Oh, no. No, no. Impossibly too tacky. Not in our house. Never. Well, kid, what can I say. The camera doesn’t lie...unless you are prepared to use Photoshop, but that’s just too, too sad. Better to keep those memories in your head, where they stay perfect.

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