For years I have had a huge fire resistant, lifelike, tall, spread-out Christmas Tree. The tree was always filled with ornaments that went back years and years in the family. Each year my sister sends me a new ornament and my mother made a cross out of beads for my tree. Each nation I have traveled to is represented with a place on my tree. One friend picked up one in Amsterdam and put his picture inside it so I wouldn't forget him. The tree always has screamed history, family and friends.

This year I am struggling what to do since there is clearly no room in my smaller apartment for a big tree. Thought I had found the solution with a four foot high revolving tree from one of the better catalogues. All my special ornaments could be put on it and the tree already had 500 lights in place. When it arrived this week, it was so ugly I let out a shout when I opened the box. Who ever had the idea to sprinkle a tree with cheap glitter that falls off in tons onto your carpet? Immediately, I closed the box, sealed it and sent it back giving the reason for return as "bad taste by the designer".

As I ponder decorating options for this Christmas in my apartment (maybe without a tree!), I couldn't help but wander back to childhood with our country Christmases.

Every year was the same: Mom would insist until Dad relented and headed out with us kids to seek a tree in the woods. Back then, you went out to cut your own in the open woods; rarely did you see a tree lot. Walking in the cold, deep into brush we sought out that special one. One or the other of us kids would have objections about every single prospective choice. You could hear Dad cussing us under his breath. He just wanted to cut the damn thing down and get warm again. Finally after much discussion we would agree on one and cut it, drag it to the pickup and take it home.

Getting home we always realized that we cut a monster tree that took up a third of the living room and we would look terrified as Dad attempted to upright it, cut it shorter and hide the empty place in the branches against the wall. Dad again would mumble forbidden words as Mom instructed him not to put the lights too close together. The string of multi-color lights would go up first and if one went out, the entire line would go dark and you have to test every bulb on the wire! Then came the old fashion bubble lights that I just loved with the water bubbles going up in each lighted tube. Finally the ornaments and then the annual battle with the tinsel. The silver strings of tinsel were supposed to be placed on the tree one at a time but by the time arrived for such a tedious task we just wanted to throw it on and get on with life. Not on my Mom's life would we be allowed to disgrace our tree by clumps. Mom sat there and directed each strand of tinsel!

Just when Dad thought he was safely home and warm, it would be time to head into the woods one more time to locate the holly trees. The pickup would traverse through the old woods roads until we found one. Dad would stand on the back of the truck and clip huge branches of holly to deck out our house. Sometimes in these excursions into the Christmas woods there would be snow and we could barely contain our excitement.

Looking back at all the fun and drama of preparing for Christmas which was big time at our house, I realize finding a way to make Christmas in my little New York space shouldn't be that hard at all.

Enjoy.

Photograph is of my Grandpa Grove with his grandchildren before our tree.