I decked my halls today, which is one of those things I love/hate. I am not a big fan of upheaval, and moving all the furniture around, thus exposing all the dust bunnies and spider webs that have lurked underneath chairs all year always triggers, along with a lot of sneezing, a big fit of cleaning. Which takes a long time, time I’d rather be spending sitting with an eggnog, listening to Andy Williams. (Isn’t that just the best song ever? Andy, I love you. And watch that one all the way to the end, too, it’s totally worth it. If you’re doing outdoor lights, I say go big or go home.) This is our first year with the new FAKE tree, and I can’t say it was a complete success, but it shows my collection of antique tree baubles to their absolute best advantage. Doesn’t it look like something you might see in a fancy shop window in A Christmas Story? Oh, love love love. This is the tree I would never have dreamed I’d want—I have always been a Charlie Brown tree sort of girl. I’m the girl who dragged her whole family across the giant expanses of howling tundra to the very edges of the christmas tree farms where the trees never got pruned and so looked scraggly and forlorn. Then the kids would say, “Why can’t we get a pretty tree?” So the love part happens when I’ve got all the dust swept away and even though this is a big white FAKE thing that only pretends to be a tree, just represents a tree, really, and I open the box with the ornaments—the antique ornaments that I scored in a yard sale a few years ago, after mice invaded our ornaments box and I had to toss most of it, don’t make me talk about it, it hurts too much—and the lovely old glass is hung, one plastic branch at a time, and the tree, yes, now it is a real Christmas Tree, don’t let anybody tell you differently, the tree just glitters. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.