decorations

Dear Janet,
This is a letter from the most neglected thing in your home at the holidays (besides your legs, which go unshaved in December as a timesaving measure)—the back of your Christmas tree.

I mean, I know I face the street, and people really can’t see anything beyond the white lights as they walk by, but this year I feel pressed to complain about the meager amount and shall I say questionable (I’m being delicate) choice of ornaments you’ve chosen to hang (a better word might be, hide) back here.

But enough with decorum.

She can’t be serious, I thought to myself, when you hung that dumbass plastic snowman who’s supposed to also be a construction worker (clever. Not really) in what I consider a prime spot of pine tree real estate. But hey, I get it. I’m the BACK of the tree. What did I expect, the sparkly gold-flecked Buddha? The peacock with real feathers, or the man in the spaceship? Noooooo. Those are your favorites so they get to hang in the FRONT!

This is an almost seven-foot tree and you’ve hung a total of five ornaments back here. FIVE!

To say it looks sparse would be like saying water is wet.

If a mullet says business in the front, party in the back, then this tree is an example of a mullet in reverse. We can hear the party happening in the front while back here it’s crickets. And I’ll tell ya why.

The ornaments you’ve relegated to this “no man’s land,” this great forgotten evergreen expanse, are either ones you’ve been gifted and don’t give a rat’s ass about—or they’re broken. Take for example the beloved ice skater from your childhood who had the misfortune of losing a leg in the Great Tragic Vacuum Cleaner Incident of 2011 (perpetrated by your blind housekeeper Maria—word gets around—whose coke bottle glasses should read: Objects are closer than they appear).

Anyway, she—the skater, not Maria—let us all know in the first five seconds that she used to reign over one of the coveted front and center spots on the tree, but now things have changed. My how the mighty have fallen (literally) and so we all (the other four misfits and myself) we have to listen to her go on and on about her freaking triple Axels, the morally bankrupt Russian judges who couldn’t recognize real talent if it skated up their skirts—and how unfair her life has become!

Oh, I’m sorry. Has your privileged life as an imaginary elite athlete in a wildly expensive sport taken a turn, sweetie? Tell your troubles to Jesus! I’m dying! I was cut down in my prime so you could hang here and complain all the live-long day!

Listen Janet, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, judgey, and bitter—but I am, so, deal with it. It’s Christmastime. Shit gets real. And the backside of trees, we have feelings too.

That’s all. I guess I just needed to vent. Hey, is that Celine Dion singing Silent night? I LOVE that song! I have to say, I’m feeling so much better!

Merry Christmas everybody!

Carry on,
Xox

You are going to be so happy to know this!

As I was digging through my totes of Christmas decorations this year, at the very bottom, buried by an old, torn tree skirt that is too sentimental to throw away yet always escapes me when its time to take it to be mended; and an old reindeer antler headband for the dog, (which still makes me guffaw with laughter and infuriates my husband—because dogs have no business wearing hats or headbands)—was the Troll Angel.

“Sister girl, where have you been?” I squealed.

She looked up at me with those oversized eyes, cotton candy mohawk and the same bad attitude she displayed thirty years ago. God I love it when inanimate objects freeze in time!

You see, the Troll Angel was the tree topper for my sister and me when we lived together in the 80’s. It said Yeah, my face looks like this because I have a Christmas tree up my skirt—what’s YOUR excuse?

It was irreverent and full of sass. Just like us. Which got me to thinking…

We keep ornaments for a lifetime but treetoppers change with the times. I think a treetopper may just be an un-unsciency marker of where we are in life.

This is mine these days. A vintage 1960’s brightly colored version of my Aunt Shirley. All business in the front —and party in the back. Tipsy…topsy..turvy. Kinda like the current me.

But, seriously! Think about it. I had a guy friend back in the day when we were a decade shy of thirty, who displayed an old deflated basketball on the top of his tree. It was from some high school championship game he…blah..blah…blah…anyway…through the years it got so old and frayed it started to looks like Wilson from Castaway. God bless him, he kept it that way until he got married. Then that girl started calling the shots and threw that thing out faster than you can say #Christmasbuzzkiller.

My accountant’s tree wears a Santa hat. Wow. What an imagination!

One mixed faith couple I know have a Star of David on the top of theirs. I think nothing says Christmas like compromise.

Many well intentions are housed in a tree topper.
Here are a few examples.

This one says: “Dog people can be scary.”

This one says: “Diane, get my flute!”

Okay, you guys. Go look at your tree. What does the topper say about you? It’s uncanny, right?

Happy Holidays & Carry on,
xox

It’s not cool to be giddy about Christmas and the holidays.
I KNOW!
Relax!
I get it.

I’ve already confessed that the shopping gives me a buzz; as do the white twinkle lights, the tree smell, the carols, the eggnog lattes, and just the general festiveness of the season.

But I still get those looks from those people, (you know who you are) the ones that want me to put a lid on my joy.
To them it is ridiculous, and frivolous – and it makes them uncomfortable.

But why should I?
Why should any of us let others, especially the haters dictate our happiness?

EVER.

I get that the whole commercialization of Christmas has gotten insanely out of hand; yet, I can’t help but smile when I see whole families in those God-awful Christmas sweaters, little kids on Santa’s lap at the mall, the gorgeous, giant tree at the Grove, and houses covered with lights.
 
There is one house at the end of our block that looks like Christmas barfed lights and reindeer all over it; but damn it, I still smile when I come around the corner.

The store windows get me too; I LOVE them.
I have several friends who put great thought and immense creativity
into their store windows, so I know what goes into assembling those mini masterpieces.

The ones in New York reign supreme, but take a walk down LaCienega, Melrose, or Beverly Hills – it’ll blow your Grinchy little minds.

One year, when I was in New York for the holidays, I ran to see the Bergdorf windows, and let me tell you, they did not disappoint.

My chin hit my chest with wonder and amazement. It is definitely true – more is better. There was a window with hundreds of moving parts. There were dioramas and gemstones and an entire window whose contents were painted silver – I was trembling.

Just when I thought I couldn’t feel anymore inspired; that I had reached my quota of Christmas joy, I looked next to me and there was a little kid, with a tiny peppermint candy cane stuck in his hair,(true story) holding his grandma’s hand. His mouth was agape too.

I caught our reflections in the window, and it took all of my willpower not to burst out laughing.

Then, just as I was having the time of my life, a pinched face lady walked briskly by, not even turning to look, but shaking her head with disapproval just the same.

REALLY lady?
You’re gonna kill our buzz?
Don’t judge our joy!
It’s frickin’ Christmas!

Here, have a peppermint candy.

Xox