I've lost it beneath the sets of blinking lights that refuse to blink and the bright red yarn waiting to be tied into bows. I have stories to write and shopping lists to complete, floors to mop and a newspaper to map out. There are halls in need of decking and deck furniture that needs to be stored. With friends to call and this nagging cold to fight, somewhere along the way I've lost the true meaning of Christmas.
I do remember the story of Christmas, but all I can think of lately is lying down next to Mary on that stack of hay and sleeping. I am envious of the baby who is coddled and cared for - give me some of that. And Joseph, sweet Joseph - I bet he opened the barn door for Mary, and we know he secured the lodging, sparse though it was. He was decisive. I need someone to handle some of my responsibilities.
Like buying the Christmas tree, for instance. This was the first year I had to buy a tree on my own. Growing up, it was my dad's job to bring home ol' tannenbaum. Dad, a.k.a. Vinnie, would invariably bring one home that didn't fit or was in need of emergency nourishment. It seemed he always sought out the homeliest malnourished tree, but once it was adorned with our homemade ornaments and glass bobbles, the tree was beautiful. And the smell of it would bring back wonderful memories of holidays past.
The first year I was married, I enlisted Dad's help early, and he agreed to do the Christmas tree shopping with me. I figured that between the two of us, we could find me a decent tree. But Dad was gone by the time the lots were full of scented pines. He had died just weeks earlier. So, on Christmas Eve, I sadly trudged to a fancy department store, dolled out way too much money and dragged home an artificial tree, complete with ornaments some unknown employee had draped on its synthetic branches.
My husband was content, since he didn't like the mess a real tree made anyway, and he had a weird aversion to the smell of fresh pine. Over the years I added personal touches, and accidentally broke as many of those impersonal ornaments as I could, but that same tree graced the corner of our living room until I left my husband - and the tree - some five years ago.
Since then, my ex-hubby has made it a Christmas tradition to pick up my boys, take them to lunch and then go and buy the fresh tree I had always missed. Until this year. Just last week, the Sicilian Scrooge told me that since he didn't want to scratch his new car, by default, the tree buying was now in my Christmas-decorating court. Great. One more thing to pile on top of the true meaning of Christmas.
I journeyed to every home-furnishing store in a 10-mile radius and each time walked away from trees that Charlie Brown himself would refuse to put in his backyard. As I was leaving the last store, an elderly employee approached me and told me of a lot in a village some 20 minutes away where an old man was selling trees. "They're good, and they're good and cheap," he assured me. I smiled politely and said thanks.
Unwilling to admit defeat, I headed in the direction of the old man and his good, cheap trees. I found the lot and a lone old guy, warming his hands over a trash bin full of smoldering coals. It wasn't until I took a good look around that I realized he had no more trees. There was an empty lot, and nothing more.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I guess I'm too late."
"Not at all," he replied. "Right on time." And with that, he pulled a perfect triangle of a tree from the back of his pickup. "Every year I save two trees," he explained as he tied the Douglas fir to the top of my car. "I don't even unload them. One is for me and my family, and the other is for the person who comes here after all the other trees have been sold. I've been waiting about 20 minutes for you. And put your money away - it's my gift to you. It helps me remember the true meaning of Christmas."
I thanked him profusely, my spirit renewed. He shyly handed me his card and we drove away content - my Christmas tree and me.
At the first red light, I glanced at the tattered business card. It said, "Vinnie's Holiday Trees." I hadn't forgotten the true meaning of Christmas. I just needed an angel named Vinnie to remind me.
