My beloved and I were united in Christian matrimony on August 9, 1986, which means this is the 39th edition of the Herb and Regina Flanders Christmas tree. If we've survived decorating that many trees together, then I think the marriage is going to last. Not that she hasn't wanted to backhand me, or worse, on more than one occasion. But we've survived.
Part of the reason is that we settled three of the really monumental issues very early on. The first is that we have a fresh cut tree. This decision was made easily. I was a Youth Minister in those early days of married bliss, and the church I served sold Christmas trees as a fundraiser for the students' activities and programs. Something like 6000 of the things landed on our property the week of Thanksgiving and yours truly was expected to take the lead in getting rid of them, at a profit no less. So, we bought a tree, a lovely Fraser fir from North Carolina. Only 5,999 more to go was the way I figured it. Regina balked at my idea of a tree in every room of our apartment. That would have gotten us down to 5,995.
We moved from that church three years later, but Methodists can be a staunchly traditional lot, and we're Methodists, so it's 39 "real" trees and counting. But my wife has come up with the notion that maybe we're allergic to the real ones and she points out how realistic some of these new artificials look. Plus, they've already got the lights strung on them. Allergy medicine seems to work fine, so I'm holding on to tradition.
Tree lights were another major decision we made that very first year. As you can see from the picture, we're a multi-colored light household. The debate over white lights vs multi-colored can be so contentious that I've considered adding it to my list of discussion points during premarital counseling. But we got lucky. I think we got some hand-me-down light strings and that closed the deal. After selling 6,000 trees, who gives a hoot about lights?
The final issue also had to do with the lights - blinking or not? Well, I think the hand-me-downs were blinking. Were, you will recall from your days in Grammar and Comp, is a past tense verb. So, the boxes said they blinked, and they once had, but now it was something of a hit or miss proposition. We became a blinking and non-blinking family. It's a lovely compromise. Just pick the side of the tree which corresponds to your personal preference and sit back and enjoy.
Finally, our decorations are, well . . . a smorgasbord. Homemade, gifts, cute, tacky, elegant, broken, it's all up there for the world to see. Our annual theme is Whatever's In The Box. I like to think we're making a deep spiritual statement about the Christ Child being born for all manner of humanity.
Once we determined what would go on the tree, we had to decide who was going to do the decorating. Hallmark Christmas movies have long portrayed that tree decorating brings people together, that it even kindles affection between couples falling in love. Rubbish. Pure hogwash. In fact, I'll bet they've learned to film the decorating scene last because the actors wouldn't even speak to each other after it.
My green-eyed beauty seems to believe that a Hallmark movie will break out in our den each year when we commence decorating. Thus, we decorate together. We even put the lights on as a team, her testing the strings ahead of time, then me looping the lights on the branches and she lugs the half-blinking wad in front of me. Like I say, we've survived.
So, how many lights do you put on the tree? Great question. Brylcreem, the hair gel company, used to have commercials when I was a kid purporting that "a little dab'll do you." On Sunday mornings, my father would squirt his palm full - and he had big hands - and come at my brother and me before church. Our protests that the commercial said you didn't need much of the stuff were met with his declaration, "If a little dab'll do you, then a big dab will do you better!" Sitting there on the pew, we looked like two otters rescued from an oil spill.
Well, I learned from my Daddy. If you're going to have lights, then put some lights on that tree! A big dab will do you better! Right? But she thinks we shouldn't have to turn on the air conditioner every time we light up the tree. So, we've found a happy medium. We string lights until my back starts hurting or until we run out of strands where at least half the lights work, whichever comes first. Or until she tells me that's enough.
That's the backstory on the 2024 Flanders Christmas Tree. And I have to tell you that I have a real problem with that tree. IT DOESN'T HAVE ENOUGH LIGHTS! You can see the gaps and empty spaces, especially around the edges. I figure another three, maybe four, strands would have us in good shape. But that's the finished product.
No, I haven't been to a spinal doctor, and we didn't run out of lights. Regina didn't order me to stand down. There's an even better reason our tree looks only half-lit.
We had help from Miss Hazel and Mr. Alden, our grandchildren. Especially Hazel. In fact, she took Regina's job during the light stringing. The whole time, there she was, two steps in front of me, leading me around the tree. After the second strand was in place, she started asking, "When are we going to put on ornaments?" Then, "When can I put on the star?" And, "How many more lights do we have to put on?"
Finally, she stepped back and assessed our work. "I think that's enough lights, Hubba," she declared. "It looks soooo good!" Later, pointing to the tree, she went even further, proclaiming that it was "Perfect!"
But it's not. It looks unfinished. It's got gaps. Empty spots. A big blob of lights in the middle. Bare edges.
It won't make Southern Living or Better Homes and Garden. No one will leave our house this Christmas and tell their friends about how beautiful and elegant our tree is. But who cares? After all, I can't honestly tell you about a single Christmas tree I've ever seen in anyone's home in all my life.
Maybe we've started a new tradition of grandchildren helping us decorate our tree. I sure would love it.
One day, a long time from now, I hope, they'll gather around a simple wooden casket with me inside. She won't remember what that tree looked like. But maybe at my funeral she'll tell them, "When I was four years old, I helped decorate NeeNee and Hubba's Christmas tree. And it was perfect!"
God Bless Regina! And it does look perfect!