Christmas is over as this issue of the Cook County News-Herald hits newsstands, but as I write this Unorganized Territory, it is the night before Christmas Eve. And I’m trying not to think of all the things I didn’t get done this holiday season.
Christmas baking, Christmas cards, and at the top of the list—the Christmas tree. We didn’t find time to go get one this year. My husband Chuck insists that if we have a Christmas tree, we get it ourselves. No perfectly pruned tree from a Christmas tree farm for us. No, we have to drive miles into the forest on unplowed roads in search of a tree that isn’t too big or too small or too lopsided. We have to tromp through the snow, uphill and down, trying to find a tree that is nicely rounded. We have to shake the snow off bough after bough to see if the tree that looks just right is one tree—or two trees growing deceptively close together.
I enjoy tree hunting if we can find time to do it. It’s just that it is a daylong affair. By the time we drive to the “secret” Christmas tree road and ever-so-slowly drive to an opening that has potential, by the time we hike through the woods with the chainsaw and haul out our find, a whole day is gone. And the stringing of lights, garland, and decorations stretches into late evening. And sadly, this season we didn’t have a whole day and evening to spare.
So instead, I have a tiny little artificial tree with lights set up on a coffee table. It’s only about two feet tall, but it lights up the corner of the living room nicely. It gives the house a Christmasy feel.
And it reminds me of the first Christmas Chuck and I spent together in a tiny little house in Tacoma, Washington. This year’s tiny tree is actually a step up from that year’s holiday decorations. We had just moved in to the little cottage and were as broke as a pair of newlyweds could be. We didn’t have money to buy a tree and we didn’t have a chainsaw or knowledge of the area to go cut one. So, we were going to have to spend Christmas without a Christmas tree.
It didn’t seem right to not have a tree though, especially when a care package of presents arrived from my parents back home in Minnesota. We needed something to stack the presents around. So we did what most people do when they are financiallychallenged. We got creative.
The previous tenants had left an interesting assortment of belongings behind. We had a hodgepodge of rickety chairs, dishes and utensils, some disco boots, a few throw pillows—and a dancing Buddha. The Buddha was really cute. He stood about two feet tall with his arms open wide, a huge smile on his face and his little round belly protruding. He was the picture of contentment and peace.
Since Christmas is the season of peace, we thought it would be okay to repurpose Buddha. We draped a strand of Christmas lights around him and piled the packages at his feet. He never looked happier.
The decorated dancing Buddha was certainly a conversation starter when friends stopped by to say Merry Christmas. No one had ever seen a Christmas Buddha before. We ended up having deep philosophical discussions about the sacrilegiousness of having a Buddhist symbol for our Christian holiday versus the traditional tree that is rooted in pagan tradition. We wondered if our decorated Buddha would offend someone of the Buddhist faith.
Despite the lack of a Christmas tree—or perhaps because of it—that holiday remains one of my favorites. There was a beautiful rare dusting of snow and I got a lovely and warm winter coat from Chuck. We had a nice quiet meal together and went for a walk to the neighboring park to feed bread crumbs to the ducks. And later, sitting in the warm glow of Christmas lights encircling Buddha’s cheerful, chubby face, there was peace.
Peace is not something you
wish for; it’s something you
make, something you do,
something you are, and
something you give away.
Robert Fulghum
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