Short on Glee
I wanted to buy the $15 tree. It was only 3 feet tall and the price had been reduced significantly already—it was looking a little sparse compared to others, I guess, or maybe it had been bought once and then returned, I don’t know. I saw that tree and it looked like me: this tree is how I feel about Christmas.
Nate wanted the seven-foot tree priced at $78, but I said there is not enough time left before Christmas to enjoy all $78 worth.
We were already two weeks late buying a tree. Normally getting and decorating the tree is one of my favorite traditions, but our house has sat bare of holiday décor for two weeks because the festivities seem so far off and foreign to how I actually feel. Buying a beautiful tree would seem so . . . false somehow.
But then I visualized the small tree actually in my house and how every time I walked in the living room it would be a visual reminder that this holiday sucks. So I let Nate get the expensive tree. I don’t even know if we can afford it. But I am sitting in front of it now and it is probably our prettiest tree yet, damn it.
Maybe it is a reminder that there is still beauty to be found in all life’s ups and downs.
Maybe it is a symbol of hope
Or a warm reminder of holidays past
Or a gleam of light in a dark hour
Or just an effort to stay alive.
Maybe it is one way to say, “I’m not going to die. See, I bought this lovely tree. I must still be alive.”
I might go back and buy the $15 tree for my bedroom, though, because that little scraggly guy deserves some love too, and we could keep each other company.