The Giving Tree - a repost

I posted this on December 5, 2011.  Feel exactly the same way this year.

Fair warning -- this post is going to be sappy as hell. Sentimental. Cloying.


I am in that kind of mood.

When I went to mass this morning, I was so grateful to Greg for staying home with the boys so I could go to mass on my own. No one pulled off my pants, stuck their hands down my blouse or repeated "Look Mama! It's Father Roger!" all through mass.

The mass was beautiful. I love the advent colors -- purple with gold. I love the candles, I love the symbolism, I love the prayers. Mostly, I love the people at Mass.

The Giving Tree was up -- this is our way to provide The Ark with gifts and needed items for the year. We select an ornament off the tree. The ornament has a child's age and gender on it, with an item that needs to be purchased. These kids need toys, but more than that, they need toiletries, clothes, medicine. What they really need is a safe and loving home, but unfortunately, the Giving Tree isn't much help there.

The Ark is an emergency shelter for kids who have to be removed from their homes. Usually, they have to be removed because of violence, neglect and abuse. Frequently children are removed in the dead of night, when drinking and drugs bring out the worst in those who are supposed to protect them. These kiddos come from all ages, races, religions and income levels. Most of them come from poverty -- if only because the poor have fewer mechanisms to control the damage done by the violence.

As soon as mass was over, families descended upon the tree -- taking one, two or three ornaments. People where waiting four and five deep. I know many of the families clamoring for the ornaments. When you know people, you learn their struggles. I saw people who suffered layoffs this year. People who have suffered miscarriages and other medical emergencies. People who have several small children at home. People who are caring for terminally ill parents. I saw people who struggle with addictions of their own. I saw single parent families and even a family that lost a child. Struggling families who couldn't wait to help the kids at The Ark.

We're going to do what we can too. We'll give. It will be nothing compared to what we have received. I am grateful for the chance to attend mass on my own. More than that, I am grateful for the chance to be a part of this Parish family.

Fake Ones

When I was 25, Greg & I got engaged.  Before he asked me to marry him, we went ring shopping.  I was very specific about the diamond I wanted.  I wanted an emerald cut solitaire.  It had to be at least 3/4 carats because all my friends had at least 3/4 carats. 

He wanted to marry me anyway, and bought me a 1.4 carat emerald cut solitaire.  It is a beautiful ring, and still receives compliments -- especially from hopeful young women searching for their perfect ring.

Twenty Five years later, I am done with diamonds.  If Greg wants to get me another diamond (he doesn't) I want a a 3 carat pear shaped CZ.  Maybe 4 carats.  Something gloriously big and loud and fake and cheap.  Wait -- not cheap. I don't want it to turn my finger green.  Inexpensive.  But amazing.

I love fake.  I am all about acrylic nails, faux-red hair and someday I will get a nice big set of fake boobs.  I want a good leather handbag, but it can be a knockoff.  With all due respect to Kate Spade, her designs are stunning, but $500 is too much to pay for a purse. 

And $80 is too much to pay for a Christmas tree.  But the $35 ones are all gone.

So I got a fake one.  With lights. It is FAAAAABULOUS!

Just so you know. . . .

They were sold out of trees.

In other news, I got to go to a cookie exchange today.  I baked 7 dozen shortbread cookies and took them to a girlfriend's house.  Several other of her friends baked 7 dozen yummy cookies and we traded. 

It was the Christmas I dreamed about -- complete with beautiful little girls in red plaid dresses and stylish women chatting, laughing and sipping coffee.  The home was tastefully and seasonally decorated, the hostess charming, and the company engaging. 

Yes, Virginia, there is a Perfect Christmas Party. It exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.

O Christmas Tree

Today is the day we are going to get our tree.

Every year we drive to tree lots all over town to pick the biggest, most fragrant tree.  Every year that perfect tree costs somewhere upwards of $80.  So then we go to the grocery store, and buy a $35 tree.

This year?  I'm just going to buy it when I get my groceries.  While I am there, I am sure to leaf through several home magazines.  I will linger wistfully on the perfectly festooned trees in their pages.  There will be an "all-white" tree, a gold themed tree, and maybe even an Indian themed tree.  India is very "in" this year, in case you haven't noticed.  (For the record, I was into India wayyyyy before it got cool. Because Kal Pen is dreamy.  He's not actually from India, but his parents are, I think.  Anyway -- Sigh.)   

I will dream of the day when my home is decorated perfectly for Christmas.  Elegantly dressed family and friends will come from near and far to enjoy home made goodies and hot chocolate.  We will laugh loudly at witty banter, showing our perfect teeth. 

Last year, my friend Kathy made me a very pretty monogrammed ornament.  It would have gone perfectly on my fragrant, monochromatic tree of the future.  It was broken within 3 minutes of getting on the tree. 

Until that Christmas, I will wax sentimental when we pull our shabby ornaments out of storage and place them on the grocery store tree.  I have ornaments from my own childhood, ornaments my kids made, ornaments I bought when we lived in other states, ornaments from friends.  (Except for Kathy, of course.)  For some reason, I have a lot of western themed Santas.  I like 'em. I used to have a beautiful adobe church ornament.  It got broken when our fake tree fell on my then 3 year old.  Damn fake tree.

And in 2020-something, when my boys are strapping young men, my home is perfect and we all wear sweaters despite the South Texas heat, I will miss my shabby tree.