Christmas Tree

Original post: Vianočný stromček

I don't go to the attic often. I visit this kingdom of boxes, tucked in shadows, only a few times a year, and this is probably the most special occasion. I slowly climb the ladder. The only light for my careful legs comes from a small skylight. Filtered through the soft snow blown from above into the corners, it is milky white, softened, and edgelessly  smooth. I can easily find the boxes I'm looking for; we never put them far back, they have permanent reserves "in the first rows" just below the window. Their content is as fragile as the swiftly waning light; I have to hurry, the evening is coming. I take them and carry them down. They weigh almost nothing, and that is deceptive; if I'd drop them, it would be a disaster. I pile them into columns in the living room. They are the Christmas presents that have a new recipient every Christmas. It is already there, smelling of forest and winter, different every year, and yet always the same, sometimes with long needles, other times with short ones. I have the honor to be a mediator of the gift-giving, and I carry out my role with enthusiasm, pride, and appropriate seriousness, which includes a strict ban on everyone entering the room during the act of giving.

The tree stands in its usual place, fully professionally prepared, with an air of natural presence, as if he always belonged there, and the chair we moved for him was only saving a place for him during the year. It has to be close to the window of course; part of the overall Christmas panorama is that he is visible from the street. His presence alone, without ornaments, is festive already. A small piece of me wonders if the decorations inherited from dozens of others will fit him, but otherwise, I have no doubts. I get to work.

I start when it's still light outside; I play a Christmas fairytale on TV in the background, and when I'm lucky, my decorative operation is accompanied by quietly swaying snowflakes outside, hoarding on the windowsill. They embody Christmas peace and quiet, I feel their presence, even though we are separated by a window and a hot radiator.

The star on the treetop goes first. The sentimental myth of „putting it up at the very end“ is for amateurs. It would be impractical with a fully decorated tree. Most ideally it's fastened when the tree is not up yet. The same goes with fairy lights. Just like laundry pegs, they click down deep into the most prominent branches, so there is plenty of room for other ornaments. Fortunately, no light bulb is burned out this year, even though the paint is peeling off on many. What can I say – they're veterans, they've lit up many Christmases.

The tree is then tied up on a little nail hanging from the ceiling, so it doesn't fall, as it happened once a long time ago, where my fleeting memory of early childhood no longer goes. It is carefully adjusted so that the light cable reaches the plug.

That concludes the prologue of decoration; now it's time for the main symphony. The vanguards of the decorations are the candies. You want to put your sweets first, because they are the heaviest and need to be worked their way far back in the branches, preferably near the lights, where the branches are the firmest. Getting them to the right place requires focused maneuvering, and a last-minute questioning of the length of the decorative threads I tied onto them a few days ago. It is an annual tradition for me to think that the box of candies seems bottomless, and halfway through I always wonder if I ever fit more on the tree without disrupting their symmetrical distribution. But each time I get to the last one in the end; and then, with satisfaction, I put my needle-pricked hands on my sides and look at the candy glory from a distance. The tree looks bizarrely crowded around the trunk, and so it should - the first phase, the first layer.

Heavier candies follow. As for the hanging potential, they come with their own pathetic cobweb-like loops which tear when you breathe on them, thus contrasting greatly with the firm strings of the previous candies. They therefore require the utmost care; that means the careless branch-rending is over. With the gentleness of a hummingbird, they travel onto the delicate twigs – in the case of pines three or four powerful needles. Even with the utmost caution, I'm never 100% successful, so I replace torn loops with the same strings I used for previous candies. If I don't balance them well, they fall to the ground with a loud crash. But no matter how hard they try, I always win in the end, and the second phase of decorating is completed.

            In the third phase, things are getting serious. The following are the main stars of the evening (in the case of some ornaments literally), which honour us with their presence traditionally every year. This phase has also a strict hierarchy. First come the six largest baubles. It's a set, but not all of them are the same colour, therefore I hang them in a way that the colours are evenly spread. The most prominent ones get their place of honour at the end of the branches, where they are most visible. If you look at them closely, you'll see not only your bulging face but also a delicate web of cracks – a patina that has seen many Christmases and gained charm and memories gradually from all of them; ready to take a new dose. The more cracks on them, the richer they are.

I work my way through smaller and smaller baubles and lay them out evenly because there is no greater sin of sloppiness than the accumulation of the same baubles in one place. No set of veterans is complete anymore. Some have only two or three specimens. The boxes thus contain several types of ornaments, not just baubles; you know the drill – as a part of the space-saving, two half-empty boxes are consolidated into one.

Every year, a few newcomers are added to the veterans. The boxes are not dusty or damaged, the surface of the ornaments is not cracked, they shine with novelty and the glow of freshly fallen snow outside the window. The meeting is quick and smooth. No matter what their shape and colours are, they have no problem fitting in. The harmony of the new and the traditional works swimmingly on the Christmas tree, and the charm of an ancient fairy tale is not disturbed in any way by the novelty. Quite the opposite. It gives him a new zip.

As penultimate comes a turn of small decorations that are not baubles. Bells, stars, mushrooms (Yes, mushrooms too, made out of silver beads because - why not?). The tree already looks complete, although the final layer is still to come. There is no longer an unadorned twig on it, which would accidentally escape my attention. Everything is visually radared and documented. Even if it seems that somewhere in the back there is an overlooked space to discover for the last ornaments, I find on closer inspection that it is already occupied by three ornaments that I could not see from a distance; and any addition would exceed the weight capacity – thus causing a fatal bending of the branch and dramatic fall of the occupiers.

Despite the capacity doubts that could arise, each ornament will eventually find its place. The tree is complete, and yet something is still missing. The last phase of decorating comes to pass. Just like ribbons on a present, there comes the tinsel. Loose tinsel is as light as snow, and if you don't overdo it, it's not obtrusive and adds true sparkly magic to the overall look of the tree. Tinsel chains, carefully placed at the ends of the branches, help to shape it.

And finally - no act of decorating would be complete without final approval. The main lights in the living room go out, only the tree lights up, the door opens, family members are called in, which subsequently sing praises on how beautiful the tree looks. That brings the subtle art of tree decorating to an end. The tree lights go out, and the normal lighting is switched on - the tree is allowed to lit up before Christmas Eve only for the final approval.

Before tidying away the empty boxes, I beam at the tree once more. I like that he is multi-coloured and not just pure white or gold-red, as it is a trendy monolithic fashion. I like that the tree looks the same every year, even though he is always unique. The decorations are never in the same places as the previous year, but I never have the impression that they are in the wrong spots. The tree, in his beauty, roots deeply in our living room for two weeks like a fairy-tale creature. His roots run deeper than the pedestal on which he stands, and his top with the star extends higher than the ceiling. His magic can move what is gentle in us if we let it. Let us be amazed again, in a child-like fashion. Let our spirit allow us to reach into the ancient timelessness, where things are constant and indelible. The tree with his rich variety of ornaments is a collection of symbols that affect us in some way, and the biggest, under his lowest branches, is the symbol of giving and receiving. Giving and receiving on a much softer and higher level of Light, if we open up to it. Let us lit up the Fairy lights and let them glow in the dark. And let us rejoice in them.

 

© Ludmila
     (author of picture unknown)