I know the holidays aren’t cheery for everyone, which makes me a little sad, but for many people the Christmas season truly is the best time of the year. I’m married to one of those people. Steve loves the holiday season. Every year. He loves the lights and the music and the shopping and while he doesn’t bake…he gleefully enjoys what I bake. If you ask which season is my favorite I am much more inclined to say whichever one we are currently immersed in. But I’m a little fickle. Steve on the other hand, is very clear. He loves the Christmas season.
In particular, Steve enjoys tradition and our family is very tradition driven. Some of that may have to do with being holiday homebodies. We’ve always spent the holidays away from extended family and developed our own family traditions when it was just the five of us. Maintaining those traditions carries a certain amount of nostalgia. Sometimes family members can get a little militant about remembering traditions and have to be reminded that things change. Sometimes old traditions need to be replaced with new ones. It is a growing process.
Nevertheless, Steve is quite the keeper of tradition and enjoys being Santa’s little helper throughout the season. Putting up the Christmas tree is the seminal event each year and Steve does it with great celebration. I personally find the process somewhat tedious but Steve always turns it into an extravaganza involving cookies and eggnog and cheesy Christmas music and fond remembrances from each ornament. It can take days.
This year, after discovering that the twinkle lights, packed away last January, no longer twinkle, Steve decided to put LED lights on the tree. As he was carefully placing them, I mentioned that they were rather…bright. And I was being gentle. They were blinding. I’ve never seen such dazzling little lights.
Ignoring my comments, he continued to add string after string. Anna grimaced and Charles came into the room and exclaimed, “Wow…those are BRIGHT!” Steve insisted they were pretty. So, okay…it is his thing…we just decided to go with it.
Alright. Not entirely. I did wear sunglasses to place ornaments on the tree. I might have been trying in my not-so-subtle way to communicate that I didn’t exactly love the LED glare of light. Regardless, the ornaments went on the tree and the project was finished and the lights illuminated the living room. No other lighting was really necessary when the tree lights were lit. Steve commented that the tree looked beautiful. Outside. From the street. Which is fine, I guess, if we were all planning to camp out in the front yard to look at our resplendent Christmas tree. But inside the house the tree was anything but relaxing. It felt a little frenetic.
One evening a day or two after the tree went up, a young woman stopped by on a fundraising drive for RAPP, a rape education and prevention program. The temperature had dropped well below zero that evening and in spite of the fact that she was heavily bundled, I invited her in, gave her a donation, chatted with her about the program, and insisted that she sit in the living room while I made her some hot chocolate in a ‘to-go’ cup. She seemed appreciative but did say, somewhat casually, “My, your tree lights sure are….bright.” She then quickly added, “They look so pretty from the street.” Yes. We know. From the street. Inside the house however, we were fearful of corneal flash burns.
I had resigned myself to having a particularly merry and BRIGHT holiday season. Well sort of. I might have mentioned my aversion to the lights once or twice more. Okay, fine. I admit that one morning as Steve sat in the living room with his effulgent tree, I couldn’t resist coming downstairs into the living room singing Manfred Mann’s, Blinded by the Light. But no matter what anyone said (or sang) Steve held steadfastly to his admiration for the LED light bonanza.
Or so I thought.
One subzero morning earlier this week, I drove Anna to school. When I returned home Steve was sitting in the living room next to his beloved blazing tree. His face, along with the rest of the house, was aglow. But, he looked grumpy. Really grumpy. Downright Grinchy. I asked what was wrong and in a monotone he said, “I hate these lights. I hate this tree. In fact, I’m starting to hate Christmas.” I could almost see his heart shrinking two sizes too small. I started laughing and asked if he had just noticed how bright they were. He said, no, he had thought they’d grow on him. Clearly, they hadn’t.
I assumed that since the lights were already strung and the ornaments had been hung we’d just learn to be content with shielding our eyes whenever we wanted to gaze lovingly upon the beautiful, radiant tree. But no. Not Steve. He wasn’t going to be content until every last LED light was removed and new strings of softer, gentler, twinkle lights were gracing our Christmas tree. He insisted that Christmas trees are supposed to be warm and inviting not stark and glaring. That night, after attending Anna’s choir concert, he disappeared. He didn’t say where he was going, but I knew. He was out buying twinkle lights.
So now calm and joy have returned to our abode. We are no longer blasted by the sight of our Christmas tree. We no longer have to avert our eyes when we enter the living room. And Mr. Griggs's heart has once again grown three sizes.
Peace on earth.
And in our living room.
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