I don't remember doing much holiday decorating when I was a kid. Somehow my parents got the idea that Santa Claus should bring our Christmas tree in addition to all the presents. Once I learned the secret of Santa Claus, I also learned why my dad never had much pep on
Christmas morning – after spending all night on Christmas Eve decorating the tree and assembling toys, who would? Before Christmas, we did decorate little trees for our rooms divvying up a pile of gilt encrusted reindeer, aluminum stars and other ragtag ornaments that my mom had bought as a newlywed. But, frankly, we had bigger holiday fish to fry. For one thing, we had to devote a significant amount of attention to the five-pound box of chocolates our great, great Aunt Annie always sent us from California. We never actually met her; but, believe me, when you're a kid, a big box of chocolates would earn even Jack the Ripper a hallowed place in your heart.We also had to play along with whatever fun, family holiday project my mom dreamed up. The wildest was the time she decided we should pull taffy. It sounded like fun, stretching it back and forth until it got hard, just
like the pioneers did in the olden days. (Of course, the pioneers didn't have indoor plumbing, couldn't go out for Creamy Whip and never got to watch "The Mickey Mouse Club.") The reality is that hot, gooey taffy is not that easy to hold onto, much less pull; and you definitely have to butter your fingertips both to keep the taffy from sticking and to soothe the burns and blisters. Like most creative mother projects, this one tasted good in the end but it generated a lot of griping and groaning along the way.Paul and I started our own holiday traditions the first year we were married, cutting a Christmas tree and decorating it mainly with homemade red velvet bows. In a fit of holiday craftiness, I bought and
painted a set of wooden ornaments which included a sleigh, a teddy bear, a gingerbread boy and a yellow camel, which you can find exiled to the back of our tree, if you look hard enough. Our early holiday preparations also included handmade, wood-block printed greeting cards although, after repeated bloody accidents with wood cutting tools in our printmaking class, I was demoted from the cutting role to the inking role.Our stock of purchased Christmas ornaments grew gradually – the first three were a
mouse on a little red chair, a mouse on a piece of yellow, Styrofoam cheese and a dove from Frankenmuth, Michigan, Christmas capital of the Midwest. A fabric horse from our friends Tina and Rick, a needlepoint gingerbread house from my sister, a handmade ceramic pizza from Jeff and Mary Pat, a jewel-studded pig from my mom, a zaftig mermaid in a red, strapless gown (photo above) from Caroll and George, a bunch of fishing-themed 
ornaments from Paul’s office staff and many others followed. We love the uniqueness and personal quality of our tree; but, as a kid, David was not impressed. When he was three, he wanted balls on the Christmas tree so much that he made one out of wadded up paper and a pipe cleaner. Finally Paul bought him a set of six pink balls which are still with us today along with the ball David made. Since then, we have collected a whole box full of kid-crafted ornaments – John’s pre-school wreath made out
of dyed green, crushed up cornflakes, David’s construction paper chain and dough snowman, glitter laden snowflakes, an origami reindeer plus assorted items the boys made in their annual holiday craft sessions with Grandma. I’m allowed to sneak a few out each year as long as they’re not displayed too prominently.Our collection of holiday decorations has also increased over the years. We have a lovely, hand carved, wooden crèche set, which Paul’s parents
brought back from Germany, a few pieces at a time, over about ten years. The boys took turns setting it up although we knew when it was David’s year, we’d probably find a sheep or a donkey perched on the roof. Now Paul sets out those beautifully made pieces, but the job can be Willem’s when he’s a little taller and not drooling so much. We also have fabric, ceramic, wood and metal Santas each of which
brings us the memory of the person who gave it to us. Paul’s sister Marti made us a big, fabric Rudolph head which always hangs in the breakfast room. Paul’s personal favorites among the decorations are also the tackiest – a goggle-eyed tree that blares out a Christmas carol when you walk past it and a big frog that bops around and sings “Jingle Bells” when you shake its hand. I figure if that’s what it takes to put him in the holiday spirit, tackiness is a small price to pay. I myself never buy Christmas decorations, however, for fear of someday finding out
that, instead of being able to decorate (and a month later, de-decorate) in under an hour, we might find ourselves spending days in the process. I appreciate the beauty of other people’s houses graced by hundreds of Santas or multiple trees for the holidays; but I can’t do it. Besides, it would not go over well with Paul who is truly a closet Grinch. As we were getting out the Christmas boxes, the first thing he said was, “We don’t have to put all this stuff out.” He reminisced fondly about last year - he was sick so John helped me cut the tree and I did all the decorating. “You know,” he said, “My chest feels a little tight today.”I told him to “man up” and handed him the lights for the tree. For some reason, that job always brought out the worst in my dad. Once my sister figured out the Santa thing, decorating the Christmas tree became
a family affair, but we hid out until after the lights were safely installed. While we might have gotten a few laughs out of hearing Dad’s muttered curses at the tree, General Electric, Cincinnati Gas and Electric, Thomas Edison and the holidays in general, it wouldn’t have been a good idea. When Paul and I put up our first tree, I was braced for the all-too-familiar blow-up. It didn't happen. Paul impressed me by arranging those light strands as nonchalantly as if he were brushing his teeth; and he has done so every year since. It’s definitely more restful that way, but sometimes I do miss the fireworks. I am pleased to report that, even interrupted by a phone call from David, we completed our holiday decorating in 57 minutes. As always, Paul’s inspiration came
from his Christmas Manhattan in the special glass my parents gave him. My inspiration came from “The Best of Christmas,” a holiday record album we bought in 1971 - the perfect background music for tree trimming. With that album, we bring Nat and Bing and Ella and Dino and Tennessee Ernie into our house every December. True, we also bring in Wayne Newton's cloying version of “Silent Night” and Marlene Dietrich's inappropriately smoldering rendition of “The Little Drummer Boy.” However, when Lou Rawls tells you to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” you know you’re ready to do just that.
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