MICKI BARE Advertisement

It is not something anyone would notice now as we sit and chat in the living room, all decked out with festive trimmings and vacuumed and dusted in anticipation of the holiday week. But I know things are different. It's subtle, but it lingers like a confused ghost stuck between two worlds.

My transitional tree, the cheap, scrawny, artificial, wiry pine with plastic needles that were actually shedding finally wore out. It was the only tree I could afford the first Christmas my children and I spent alone after my first marriage went down in flames, and I was proud of it. We didn't have the big light display outside, or the candles in the windows, or bows and bells and boughs throughout the house. But we did have that tree. And it was enough.

For over a decade, we've proudly decorated and displayed the pathetic tree, mostly out of pride and sentiment. The presents always looked so copious under the lopsided, lean branches. The ornaments stood out, though we had to be careful not to hang them on the light strands that were placed just so to keep the branches from drooping too low.

But this year, as we hung the last few ornaments, we realized that the tree was no longer standing on its own power. All the adjusting in the world was not going to keep the trunk upright. We could tell it desperately wanted to be the center of attention for just one more year by the way it held out until we had all the lights intricately interwoven amongst the branches and most of the hundreds of ornaments we'd collected over the years in place.

We spent the next hour carefully propping and un-decorating our precious holiday icon. The bare plastic pine sat propped against a chair for a week while we debated over what kind of tree we would purchase to replace it.

Replace it -- how could we do that? We'd heaped so much sentiment upon its branches that it became irreplaceable. It probably collapsed under the weight of a decade of holiday passion and pride.

During that solemn week, as I sat on the loveseat glancing between my poor, dying tree and the coffee table cluttered with displaced light strings and ornaments, I had a revelation. We didn't have to toss the old tree to the street. Surely there must be some way to salvage our old friend. Surely there was still a place for our transitional tree, a way to display it, a way for it to continue to bring us joy and happiness.

Feeling better about my old friend, I finally mustered up enough holiday spirit to shop for a new tree for the living room. My transitional tree set me back $12. I quickly discovered that today, $12 won't get much of a display unless I wait until the after Christmas sales and settle for something smaller and scrawnier.

However, I also found many more options in the artificial tree market. There were many varieties and styles. There were many sizes and shapes. They came with the lights already built-in. I even found a pre-lit, pink-needled, long leaf pine that played Deck the Halls.

After considering the plethora of options, I settled on a green artificial fir tree already adorned with over 400 white lights. After unloading the box, I turned it over to my pre-teen, who actually still assists with decorating unlike his teenage brothers who were tied up skateboarding and ripping CD's with "tight" music.

While my youngest set up and decorated the new tree, I headed to the front porch with my transitional tree. Pulling the root systems of two tomato plants out of a large green plastic planter, I realized that I was going to need more than old garden dirt to support my old tree. A bucket of river rocks was gathered.

All the bottom branches had to be removed, but my plan worked. After plunging the warped pole-trunk down into the planter and pouring the bucket of rocks on top of the dirt, my transitional tree stood with pride between two chairs on my front porch. For the second time this December, I carefully intertwined the indoor/outdoor light strands among the delicate branches. Hubby connected the bottom strand to a 75-foot green power cord and connected it to our outdoor display.

Barring hurricane force winds or a blustery blizzard, the old tree is set to bring everyone who admires our light display joy and warmth for yet another holiday season.

And with tender care and a good storage box, a few pieces of floral wire and some green spray paint, I believe I can squeeze another decade out of the old transitional tree. By then, I might even be emotionally invested in the pristine, pre-lit fake fir tree standing center-stage in our living room.

Happy holidays!

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.