Christmas tree, O Christmas tree: Part 20, the last

No room at the top

I now come to the end of this sentimental and self-indulgent holiday reminiscence with a look at the tippy-top of The Beast.

I promised my wife when she finally surrendered to my entreaties to put up a Christmas tree that it would be a secular celebration of family, not a religious one. And I have kept that promise, mostly.

Thus, no star and no angel adorn the apex of our tree.

As you can plainly see, even without such a commitment, there’s simply no room for a tree-topper. The Beast barely clears the ceiling now, and that’s only because I did some lumberjacking on the top section during its first installation.

I began this sappy stroll down Gunnels memory lane with the observation that this would be the last year of The Beast. At the time, I believed its time had come to an end, a victim of my aging joints and diminished muscle mass.

Now I’m having second thoughts. I always have second thoughts. Marice accuses me, justifiably, of always over-thinking things. Why should the ultimate fate of The Beast be any different?

You see, we’ve come to some decisions at Gunnels Manse that could affect the future of our problematic Christmas tree. Last week, we contracted with master-of-all-trades Gary Cramer to build a shed in our backyard to house our myriad bins, boxes and bags of Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations.

Such an out-building no longer will require me to risk life and fragile limb in ascending a 10-foot ladder to bring down our voluminous décor from the garage attic. It also may help me avoid a hernia from rearranging the southeast corner of said garage to retrieve The Beast from storage.

So a reprieve for The Beast may be in order. When I think about it, if we got rid of everything that is frustrating, time-consuming, difficult to manage and generally a pain in the ass, Marice would have kicked me to the curb long ago.

We may call it the Holiday Hut. Or perhaps the Beast’s Lair. That has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?

 At this, the end of my Christmas-tree tales, I’ve come to a new appreciation of our holiday centerpiece.

When I luxuriate in its cheerful, soul-soothing aura, I see a bundle of contradictions. It changes every year, never looking exactly the same. New ornaments are added, others get broken and sorrowfully are cast aside. And yet, it also never changes. It’s made up of the cherished touchstones of our family and of our past.

It offers comfort and a sense of grace to all who encounter its lights and brightly colored tokens. It comes and, when the holidays pass, it goes. Yet, it’s always there – at the right time, at the time we need it most.

I see in its branches a reflection of the inner struggle many of us confront daily – to remain vital and relevant, while also embracing the cord that connects where we’ve been to where we are to what awaits us in an uncertain future.

Later today, our children and their significant others will arrive, and we’ll open the presents that now rest, wrapped to the best of my limited ability, under the sturdy, stalwart Beast. It will be a time of family, a time of joy, a time to recognize with gratitude that we have weathered a most difficult period.

Alas, we won’t see Rachel and Ethan on Christmas Day – for the first time since they were born. The thought makes me melancholy, but things are as they should be. My children have responsibilities that now extend beyond the tight embrace of their parents.

To be sure, 2020 has been the most dreadful of years, the worst in my lifetime and one of the worst in our nation’s history. But the Gunnels and Richter families have much to be grateful for. We come from hardy stock, and we have fared better than many during this time of death and national strife.

Still, I struggle, as do many of you, with a deepening concern at the anger, hatred and distrust that dominate the daily headlines. I sometimes despair, but I am also comforted by an abiding faith that, in the words of Faulkner, we not only will endure, we will prevail.

Such is my wish for all of you. In the end, family and friends are all that stand between us and the abyss. During times of trouble and travail, they are our final bulwarks against disaster.

Thank you, most sincerely, for your patience and for your kind and generous response to these holiday posts. May peace, love and contentment surround you. Happy holidays!