Sam and Kathleen have been bugging me to tell them what kind of Christmas gift I want. Wait, was that singular gift or plural gifts?
Truthfully, I don’t want much because I don’t need much - nothing actually. But I was thinking of the line in It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas that goes, “But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be on your own front door.”
I would like a holly tree for Christmas - you know, with the red berries (males I think). I’d like to plant one in our yard this year. Hopefully, Sam won’t be tempted to over-water it.
Why do I want a holly tree? Oh, I’m so glad you asked. Nostalgia, of course! A holly tree reminds me of the best Christmases I ever had - at my grandparents’ house in Oregon. I loved my grandparents so much. Even though they’ve been gone many years now I still have their picture on my dresser bureau. I always felt happy and safe and warm at my grandparents’ home and a holly tree reminds me of the times I helped my grandma clip twigs from that tree to decorate her house. I don’t remember where she used the twigs - front door, fireplace mantle, around the family room with bunches of pine cones, possibly laid around the nut bowl, which had all kinds of nuts in it. We cracked and ate the nuts while opening our gifts in front of the roaring fireplace.
My grandparents’ holly tree must have been six to eight feet tall and possessed an ample girth. Grandpa was good at growing trees as evidenced by the holly and the filbert tree (called hazelnut now) and the cherry and apple trees in the yard. I’ll never forget either how grandpa waged war on greedy gobbling birds that went after his cherries - he put rubber snakes in the branches, which scared the crap out of me the first time I climbed that tree. Grandpa also sat on his porch and plinked at the blue jays after his filberts with his .22 rifle.
The holly tree was one of the first things my family saw as we pulled up in the driveway to my grandparents’ house in our station wagon loaded with kids and presents. That tree became sort of a beacon of the holidays for me - sort of like the Star of David pointing me toward happiness and hope. I always looked at that tree like it was a good omen as I trudged up the walk from the driveway to my grandparents’ front door.
The holly tree couldn’t compete with the smell of the Christmas tree in the house of course, but no matter. Those red berries just made me think of Christmas so that to this day red is my favorite color and I still associate it with Christmas. The holly leaves were kind of prickly, but that just enhanced their beauty - the prickles meant that here was a thing of beauty not to be taken lightly or messed with unkindly.
That’s how I think of Christmas, something beautiful and not to be taken lightly or messed with by greedy retail merchants and stupid government officials. May Sam and a Wise Man’s camel poop on people who would mess with Christmas. It’s our American tradition and one I personally would like to preserve for all the ages.
Truthfully, I don’t want much because I don’t need much - nothing actually. But I was thinking of the line in It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas that goes, “But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be on your own front door.”
I would like a holly tree for Christmas - you know, with the red berries (males I think). I’d like to plant one in our yard this year. Hopefully, Sam won’t be tempted to over-water it.
Why do I want a holly tree? Oh, I’m so glad you asked. Nostalgia, of course! A holly tree reminds me of the best Christmases I ever had - at my grandparents’ house in Oregon. I loved my grandparents so much. Even though they’ve been gone many years now I still have their picture on my dresser bureau. I always felt happy and safe and warm at my grandparents’ home and a holly tree reminds me of the times I helped my grandma clip twigs from that tree to decorate her house. I don’t remember where she used the twigs - front door, fireplace mantle, around the family room with bunches of pine cones, possibly laid around the nut bowl, which had all kinds of nuts in it. We cracked and ate the nuts while opening our gifts in front of the roaring fireplace.
My grandparents’ holly tree must have been six to eight feet tall and possessed an ample girth. Grandpa was good at growing trees as evidenced by the holly and the filbert tree (called hazelnut now) and the cherry and apple trees in the yard. I’ll never forget either how grandpa waged war on greedy gobbling birds that went after his cherries - he put rubber snakes in the branches, which scared the crap out of me the first time I climbed that tree. Grandpa also sat on his porch and plinked at the blue jays after his filberts with his .22 rifle.
The holly tree was one of the first things my family saw as we pulled up in the driveway to my grandparents’ house in our station wagon loaded with kids and presents. That tree became sort of a beacon of the holidays for me - sort of like the Star of David pointing me toward happiness and hope. I always looked at that tree like it was a good omen as I trudged up the walk from the driveway to my grandparents’ front door.
The holly tree couldn’t compete with the smell of the Christmas tree in the house of course, but no matter. Those red berries just made me think of Christmas so that to this day red is my favorite color and I still associate it with Christmas. The holly leaves were kind of prickly, but that just enhanced their beauty - the prickles meant that here was a thing of beauty not to be taken lightly or messed with unkindly.
That’s how I think of Christmas, something beautiful and not to be taken lightly or messed with by greedy retail merchants and stupid government officials. May Sam and a Wise Man’s camel poop on people who would mess with Christmas. It’s our American tradition and one I personally would like to preserve for all the ages.
No comments:
Post a Comment