Originally Posted December 16, 2007
First things first…
Do you know what it means to deck the halls?
I didn’t, so I asked my best friend Google.
And then I felt dumb. Deck? Like decorate… or getting all decked out…
oh well. I really just wanted to throw some fancy trivia your way to make me appear some what intelligent, but guess that’s not happening. I’ll try again next year… 
Decking the halls growing up was an all day thing. And it was mandatory. So were the smiles that you must have while participating. Being grumpy or bah humbug were not allowed, although trust me. There were many years that I pushed the envelope with the Christmas cheer.
But it made my mom so happy for all of us to do it, so even dad pretended as if he liked doing this.
We all had roles in decking the halls and trimming the tree. We would all go and pick out the perfect tree. We all had a say in what we thought we should get, but in the end, it was my mother who made the final decision (as long as it was within the budget that my father had set.)
After we got the tree home, my mom, brother and I would haul out all the boxes while Dad did his thang with the tree. He was responsible for getting all the loose needles out, making a fresh cut in the stump and getting it in the stand, something I obviously didn’t pay enough attention to when I lived there as we all know.
When the tree was placed in it’s spot in the living room, it was then time to get the lights ready. As in true military fashion, with my dad being a soldier and all, there was a system that must be followed.
We used the strands with the big bulbs. Oh how I wished for twinkling little lights. They seemed so easy to deal with but we used the big ones. The strands had no bulbs when we started and we would get the bulbs out of the box. Most families probably left their bulbs in the strands and if they did take them out, there were probably all dumped in a box. Not in our house. When the bulbs were put away the year before, each of the four colors were separated in baggies.
So John and I would then put the bulbs in the strands, but not in just any ol’ way. No, we put them in sequences — green, blue, red, yellow… repeat. We did this until all the bulbs were in and working. We tossed the bulbs that weren’t working and handed dad the lights to which he hung perfectly on the tree. (This is something else that I apparently never paid attention to. The man taught me to change the oil in my car but not how to string lights… amazing.)
Now, while Dad, John and I are working on the lights, Mom is unpacking all of the boxes. She’s getting the ornaments out and her snow globes, and wreaths, etc. While doing this, we’re hearing, again, the significance of each of the decorations. As a child, this bothered me. As an adult? I’m ever so grateful that she did it. At the time, I didn’t realize exactly what memories meant, at least not like I do now.
Ok, so the lights are on and mom’s unpacking, but we can’t decorate yet. First we have to go through the lights, now hung on the tree, and make sure that there aren’t two colors next to one another. Anal? Yes, however, I dare you to find a more perfect tree anywhere in the country. This was important to my dad. Today, I have the little lights and ::gasp:: there are even some bulbs that are out that I didn’t replace… primarily because I didn’t have any extras.
When the lights are on, and the tree is anchored to the ceiling so that little ones or dogs can’t knock it over, Dad gives the green light for the trimming to commence.
The ornaments are all layed out on the floor and we must attach a hook to each of them, because last year we took the hooks off of them and put them in a little baggie… which means they are all tangled up and we spend more time untangling them than we do actually hanging the ornaments.
We talk about where they came from and the memories behind them. While my brother, mother and I are hanging the ornaments, Dad begins to gather the stuff to decorate the outside. Mom of course tells him where she wants what and Dad makes it happen.
The Christmas Carols are going and we’re holly jolly decorating the house. There was always a fire going, but not because it was to set the mood, it’s because we heated our house with a woodstove which meant that we were either burning up or freezing cold depending on where we were in the house.
And let’s not forget the music. The music was all classics… Berl Ives and Barry Manilow… John Denver… all played on the record player. No fancy CDs for us. It’s another great memory for me, the music, and the sound of the records flipping and the slight scratch when the needle set down.
But, when the house was finished, it was great. It was festive and there were decorations that I looked forward to getting out every year… like the knitted know people… and our manger scene, which was missing baby Jesus… he apparently didn’t survive one of the moves and to this day it’s the bottom of a match box with a blue tissue in it and a plastic naked baby. Classy, I tell you. But that’s a memory.
My parents have enough money to buy a new manger set, but I would be devastated if they did.
And then there’s the fish. The fish hangs above the woodstove (even in their new house) and he gets a Santa hat. The fish is one that my dad caught many, many years ago and it was a biggie. He had it stuffed and he gets decked out for the holidays too. (Sometime, I’ll have to tell you the story behind the fish.)
And then there are the stockings. The stockings are old, but all hand made. When my brother and I moved out, Mom tried to give us our stockings. But we made her keep them. Because when I go “home” even though I didn’t grow up in the house they live in now, Christmas is seeing all of those stockings hung. Of course, they aren’t hung by the chimney with care as they would catch fire, but they are hung. It preserves the memories that I try so desperately to hang on to.
The best view of our tree was when we lived in Virginia. One year it was downstairs, but every other year it was proudly displayed in the bay window. And one day, I want a window where everyone can see my tree.
So those are my decorating memories…
And tomorrow I promise a new memory… a little earlier… hopefully… I’ve been working on this one since Thursday…
Until next time…
