John Burridge

We're gearing up for the holidays at our house.  Mark has been stringing lights along the front, and the other day he and The Child set up the ceramic Christmas village.

I managed to charge up the solar batteries on the holiday star (there's always a question if they system will work after 48 weeks in storage) over the weekend, which was relatively sunny.

The star is made of painted lathe strips wrapped in light strings.  

I had fun putting it up.  I was on the roof when a neighbor came out to his truck, so I hailed him.  He wasn't sure where my voice was coming from.  I did shout, "I'm up here!" but I guess he didn't hear me clearly, because he looked around, pulled out his cell phone, and then checked it.  I know it was wicked, but I did have to laugh a little (behind my hands, while muttering "Oh, I shouldn't laugh...").  A minute later, I successfully hailed his wife.

"Oh, I love that star," she said, much to my relief -- I always worry that the star is a little too much Country Cute Meets DIY.  

While I was wiring the star in place, it struck me that the pitch of the northern side of our roof is nearly the angle of the the winter sun in its meridian.  

Then we all trundled off to the local-ish U-cut tree farm and murdered a small tree to decorate for the holidays.  The weather was sunny and bright, and the temperature was in the 50's, which was a pleasant change from the times we've been slogging through acres of firs, pines, and spruce in the middle of a drizzle that threatened to turn into a snow storm.  

The new twist was that this was the first time we've transported a tree with the car Mark commutes to work with, and the top rack was so aerodynamically designed that there were no real corners to anchor the tree to.  It took a little trial-and-error -- when we stopped to check the ropes in a parking lot about two miles away from the farm, I was not happy about how much slack was in the rope -- but we got the tree home in one piece without fresh lumber flying into a highway lane. 

My folks have more traditional ornaments than we do.

Since about 1972, they've always gotten a twelve to fourteen foot tall tree.  It used to be a tree that we'd cut down from a local tree farm.  One year, we didn't measure correctly, and after we got the tree up we realized that it was too tall and my Dad fired up a chainsaw inside the house and trimmed the trunk.  Another year, Mark got an infinite number of Good Boyfriend Points by throwing himself between a falling tree and my Dad's piano.

About about twelve years ago, they got an artificial tree.  Don't ask me where.  The thing is huge, and comes in five parts.  Only recently have to bottom two parts--the heaviest--been separated from each other after fusing together about nine years ago.  My folks are getting to the point where it's becoming more of a pain to set up than it's worth and this year the talk about trashing it and replacing it with a more manageable tree was louder.   (The tree has to be cinched into its storage boxes with multiple ropes, and it takes at least three people to haul the boxes out of the garage and upstairs to the parlor.)

I think they might get more Holiday Milage by setting up cones of chickenwire as a frame for fir boughs and pinecones.  They used to do that in the eighties, complete with wrapping the little crafty-trees with gold-colored glass bead chains.  One tree would be the cat ornament tree, another the music tree, and another a Santa tree.

For a while, we'd get ornaments as stocking stuffers for each other; so there'd be a set of banners, or musical instruments, or insects, or whatever.  This stopped happening when my Sister and I stopped spending the night December 24 and also when we realized the ornaments were piling up.

In the seventies, we developed a system for decorating the tree:  Stars, angels and birds went on the top branches.  Snowflakes went under the top tier, as did flower fairies.  Santas and snowmen were middle of the tree.  Mice, elves, and figures without strings should go into any "caves" in the tree.  Plastic, fabric, wooden, or crafted-ornaments made out of greeting cards and canning jar rims were "pet and child proof," so they went along the bottom of the tree.  Glass globes and plastic icicles went all over the tree.  Various ornaments were assigned to individuals as "theirs," which meant that it was sacrilegious for anyone else to hang them.  The idea is to remember the story behind each ornament:  "This is the mouse we got in 1973," "This is the bell for John and the goose girl for Julie that Aunt Margot gave."

Decorating The Tree was a big deal -- maybe less so now that my folks don't have the same stamina for five-hours-of -decorating (with holiday snacks).  Also climbing on top of eight-foot tall cabinetry now that I'm in my mid-fifteies doesn't have the same appeal as it did when I was in my teens.  And we need to do a better job of pulling our spouses into the family narrative (this year was extra haphazard).

Nowadays, I like to photograph various ornaments.  I suppose I should be more routine about it, because I'm pretty sure I have photographed the Twelve Days of Christmas ornaments multiple times.

This year, Mark worked very hard, without any help from either myself nor The Child, and created a series of Christmas Tree Decorations.  Out of single-serving cereal boxes.



The Child's Mother has, over the last several years, sent The Child a carton of small cereal boxes for special occasions, like birthdays and Christmas.  I think Mark has been wanting to do some sort of craft project with them for some time, because he had saved about thirty of the boxes.


From about St. Nicolaus day forward, he's been gluing ribbons to boxes, or cutting out cartoon mascots, and otherwise altering boxes to make them more seasonally festive.  He even got some clear plastic spheres and filled them with various cereals (which was tricky, and in the end, "Fruity Pebbles," was the cereal that best fit through the narrow bottle-neck opening).  


I like the Tony the Tiger star topper the best.

A few months ago, I decided it would be a good idea to make a paper cut-out thing of the Twelve Days of Christmas (my goal is to try to get most of the holidaze tasks done in November so I can actually have a stress-free December).  I had pretty good luck with the Partridge in the Pear Tree.  And although Mark says the Two Turtledoves looks like an advertisement for a Mandarin Hotel, I kind of like it.  I put in too fine detail for the Three French Hens, and the plotter cutter shredded them when it tried to cut them out.

And then there was this:

Mark called it Four Killer Robo-birds (with Lego Feet).  They were supposed to be cardinals, but I'd remembered them wrong and made things curve out that were supposed to curve in and vice-versa.





I tried again.

"Those aren't seed eating beaks," Mark said, "And those head tufts make them look like some sort of pterodactyl.  Haven't you looked at cardinal?"

I guess I was having a Jack Skelington, "Nightmare Before Christmas" moment.


Undaunted, I went on to the Lords a Leaping....

Which sort of came out as Lords a Judo-Chopping (or running from the Nazgul Who Wants His Crown Back).  As for the Nine Ladies Dancing, I based the dancer's form on the lord's--which in turn was based on a marionette like construction, which is probably why they both look like toys -- and why Mark says the dancer looks like a transvestite.

The goose and the swan came out OK.  So I thought I'd try the Four Calling Birds again. Our friend, Jenn, actually said, "Hey, cool cardinals," when she saw them, so I'm calling them a wrap:


At this point I've six designs down, and six more to go.