The kids have a book in their library called The Fir Tree by Hans Christian Andersen -- a different breed of author, a different era of "children's" literature, to be sure. It's a story with a moral, a message -- of a little fir tree who was so consistently discontented with its life in the forest, always wanting bigger and better, watching the other larger trees being hauled off each Christmas season, wanting that fate rather than delighting in its free and beautiful life in the forest with the birds and creatures and surrounding beauty. The day finally comes when the tree is cut down and brought to a house, decorated to the hilt for one special day ... and then disposed of. The final page tells of the tree sighing, realizing too late that it should have appreciated its life, appreciated what it had, before it was too late. The last page turns, the final illustration depicting the tree aflame in a brush pile, gone.
It's kind of ... depressing, really, and I'm surprised that Aidan actually wants to read this. Kids' stories can be so sanitized, and you rarely find a contemporary book of this nature. I always get sad when I read this -- the sad sighing always gets to me -- not only because I know this message is for me, but also because I just feel bad for that little tree ...
Today is Epiphany -- and when I asked Don when he thought we should take down the Christmas tree, he said, "Wait until Epiphany." I'm not sure why, but today is the day. To borrow words from my friend Jen, I am so ready to "reclaim my house." While I love the soft lights and the lingering scent of pine, I'm ready for cleanliness and order in that small corner of our living room. We need -- and, indeed, use -- every inch of space in this house, and I'm ready for that corner to be made available again for toy storage. But dismantling the tree -- carting up the soon-to-be-refilled bins from the basement, taking down all the little ornaments, unraveling the strings of wooden beads and lights, packing away All Things Santa -- is a big task. A tiring one when doing it alone. But I know the system, the rhythm ... so it's my task.
The kids are going to fuss -- Grace threw quite a fit when I took down the outdoor decorations over the weekend. I'll still leave up my winter-and-snowman stuff -- that's appropriate for the season. But the rest will get tucked away and slumber for another year. Today's the day to reclaim my house, to take that first definite step into the new year without decoration, without frills, without distractions -- just me, my non-resolutions, and that God-rumbling. No more masking what's ahead, no more overshadowing with the holiday finery.
Time once again to live a normal life.
But even though the decorations will soon be packed away, the joy of Christmas is not. The tree might be coming down and discarded onto the curb, but what's left behind -- the lessons learned, the memories made, the reminders of who we are and why we're here -- is what we take with us as we step into the new year.
I hope I hold on to that for a long, long time.
1 comment:
The electricity bill yesterday demonstrated just how much we've been enjoying our Christmas tree--wow, did we really have the lights on from morning into the wee hours of the night, every single day???? Whoops! our tree isn't down yet, but soon, soon, soon! And yes--it is more expensive to eat well, and this is one of the great shames of our culture, amongst a number of others!!!
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