I have a confession to make. I haven’t put up the Christmas tree in a decade. Partly it was laziness, but partly it was not being in a Christmas mood. I separated just before Christmas and I let everyone know by sending out my Christmas cards with only one name on them.
I still went to family Christmas. I still bought and wrapped presents. I still grumbled about the commercialization of Christmas, I still sung the River by Joni Mitchell every single time it came on the radio–and searched it out on YouTube whenever I wanted. I still watched Die Hard. I just didn’t want to celebrate Christmas at home.
This year, because I promised my mother, I put up the tree. I still have mixed feelings, but the tree is up, there’s eggnog in the fridge, the falling-apart pinecone wreath is on the door, some stocking stuffers have been bought, and I know where the Christmas CDs are.
So, I guess I have done enough.