Oh, Christmas Tree!!!!!!!!!!!

Night falls on the Jordan household. An interior shot reveals the newly decorated Christmas tree, the remains of birthday wrapping, two decimated birthday cakes and a bevy of stoned cats.

The tree was lugged from the basement while Fred Flintstone muttering was broken up by the occasional four-letter word when the branches knocked stuff over. This happened with sickening frequency. The basement at the Jordan casa is a potential disaster at the best of times. The best of times is about ten years past. Now, leaning towers of fan parts, the reaching arms of broken clamp lights and piles of boxes galore treat the unwary tree branch carrier to an obstacle course unparalleled above ground. With greenery extended like the useless wings of an ostrich, even the slowest saunter past these treacherous booby traps has something falling to the floor with an echoing crash. It is best to then stand still, swear quietly, take a deep breath, and move on. Crashing stuff is a part of the Christmas experience. So is a fake tree on the verge of falling apart. The branches have been artistically bent so many times, they yield with permanence to the merest touch. This makes lights an extra, super-duper fun part of the whole decorating experience. Lights that didn't work last year are hauled out this year with the token sacrificial bulb string. I plop down to the floor and start detaching, reattaching, detaching, reattaching until I am quite grumpy. I have my triumphs. They usually make it well wound onto the tree before they go out again. My task is a thankless one. And, for good reason. It's stupid.

Four extra strands were purchased before the tree was erected. Four strands were used while the tree was being wrapped with electric light fun. Six were discarded. Two hung in "should we or shouldn't we" limbo. We ended up using them. They went out. We left them on. Apathy has its moments.

The tree now stands proud, glimmering and mostly lit. Ornaments from decades of Jordan interests are represented: Disney from the Jon & Ruth faction, a spider (dream irony) and black cats from Dianne, cats & silver confections from Mom Jordan and I have loads of colorful glass of all sizes representing me. The Dad and Paul contingent is well represented by nothing because they think the whole thing is a pain in the booty. I bought a posable moose ornament last year that represents Dad to me. I see Paul in a crabby bird I take great joy in placing front and center every year. We still have ornaments from the seventies when the tree was covered with multicolored lights and ornaments of every ilk. My Mom let us paint many of them. They were truly hideous, but well loved. When I was a smaller girl, I would lay under the tree with my dog, Trouble, and smile up into the vast, beautiful world above me. I loved that tree. All four Jordan kids would be up at sunrise every Christmas morning while our exhausted parents struggled awake. We had to wait until ten. That was hours away! They'd set up a doggy gate at the end of the hall. We could look over it and past the wall to where the glorious tree sparkled with piles of presents under it. It was the most beautiful tree in the whole wide world. When I left for college, pictures of that tree went with me.

My parent bought us far more presents than they should have and we made them many weird, odd, strange things in return. One year, my Dad took us out shopping for my Mom. We went to a jewelry store and each of us picked something out. I picked an owl pendant with huge amber eyes that hung from a gold chain. I was so proud. I waited all of Christmas morning to see her open that present. Of course, she loved it. She's a Mom. And, of course I don't remember anything anyone else got her. I was a kid.

The tree is now a white lighted, garland ridden, hope holding it together edifice of family history. It has been cat-proofed due to climbing kittens and has manifested expressions of children grown into adults. In the center is the pink bird of paradise with plumes of fuchsia tinsel for a tail that we fought over when we were young. Why, I can't remember. Jon and I even fought over it the year we put up the tree by ourselves when everyone but Paul was in Dallas with my very ill Aunt Chris. A slappy fight of great vehemence was ended when Trouble got too excited and peed all over the floor. That dog knew how to end an argument. I have a feeling this tree will be standing until even duck tape, soldering, floral wire and hope are all that holds it together.

Jennifer Jordan