On Sunday, Cavin and I finally managed to coordinate our schedules to the point where we could run out and purchase a Christmas tree. This involved, as every year, a trip to the local Home Depot, where piles of withered evergreens lay stacked and tightly bound with strings and plastic, and with nary a safe word to be heard.
Home Depot makes me weep for trees.
Leaving behind the depressing evergreen death pit, we went to the overpriced nursery just up the street from our house. Yes, each tree was at least $15 more expensive than their counterparts at the hardware store, but with the trees displayed upright and unwrapped in all their arbor-riffic glory, at least I didn't feel that I was stabbing Mother Nature in the heart.
At home, as we decorated our tree, what struck me was the sense of comfortable routine that has settled in on a tradition Cavin and I have shared for about five years now. Our tree always goes in the same place -- center stage at the picture window so our neighbors can see that, yes, we are merry. A certain set of special ornaments are first placed on the best branches before we move on to the lesser, plainer ornaments. We leave the top unadorned because our multi-year search for an appropriate angel, star or Buddha treetopper has been fruitless, and now largely abandoned. The tree skirt my mother made for us is carefully placed around the bottom. And then Cavin begins feeding the tree 7-Up by the 2-liter bottle because he once read it would keep the tree healthy and, frankly, it seems to work so who am I to suggest feeding it plain sugar water?
Creating new traditions in a young relationship is an exciting and heart-fluttering experience. But being fortunate enough to live those traditions over time is intensely rewarding.
Even if it does require endless vacuuming of stray pine needles.
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