Digressions: My Life in 500 Words or Less

This is not your typical Thanksgiving blog. No discussion of turkey, stuffing or cranberry sauce here. No serving up a discourse on pumpkin pie, either. This isn’t even about football, parades or family.

This blog is truly about giving thanks.

My thanks are related to a dingy white 30-something-year-old mini-Christmas tree. More specifically, my thanks have to do with being fortunate enough to have found an understanding partner when it comes to that tree.

First, you have to know: Christmas decorating in this house begins the day after Halloween. Yep. Our first tree went up November 1. Our main tree — which we’ve dubbed “the big-ass tree” — went up about a week later.

Most of our decorating was done just after the main tree went up, by the end of the second week in the month. That includes several trees, plush seasonal toys, knick-knacks, lights, garland and outdoor lights and decorations.

But this year we were slow to complete one component, and I began to get anxious about it.

You see, every year, among the multiple Christmas trees we put up is that 4-foot white tree we’ve had since about 1987 or 88. The white braches are discolored, and there’s really not much to the tree.

We have a strand of snow white garland we wrap around the wooden base. We use blue and silver ornaments and a single string of blue lights to decorate.

Since living in Elizabethtown this tree has found a place near our bedroom window facing North Main Street. Each year I look forward to putting it up.

Normally, the tree is up rather early in November. But this year we left it as one of our last tasks, and then we discovered the lights weren’t working and had to wait to make a trip to the store to buy another string.

I was disappointment and anxious.

Since I was a kid I’ve greatly admired the look of a white Christmas tree with blue lights. Something about that combination made an impression on me early in my life, and I knew one day I would have such a tree.

That happened when I lived in Bardstown in the late ‘80s. In fact, I believe it was the first Christmas tree Becca and I had together.

I enjoy looking at the tree each year. But it obviously has seen better days.

Still, I cannot part with it. At least not yet.

Though we’d never try to deny each other anything important the other, I realize sometimes practicality has to come into play. But, so far, that hasn’t been an issue with this tree.

So I give thanks, then, to my understanding sweetie, Becca, who recognizes and accepts what the tree means to me. I give thanks to my understanding sweetie for enjoying the dingy old tree the way I do.

I give thanks for Becca, too.

I have much to be thankful for.