Somehow she managed to keep my father away, to protect that one day for us
My vision of a perfect Christmas comes from my mother.
The Christmas tree – a real tree, not plastic – went up in November, and stayed put until February or when the needles fell off, whichever came first. The top of the tree always touched the ceiling, and the bottom covered an entire corner of the living room.
The tree was decorated in a three-stage process. First came multiple strings of big primary-coloured lights, each with a little aluminium reflector to keep them from drying out the branch they were attached to. Second came the hanging ornaments, dozens of them of every vintage, style and quality, covering every inch of every branch until there was no room left for another. Finally came the silver tinsel that created the shimmering, shiny Christmas dream that is still my goal today.
Christmas in our house had no religious significance. We didn’t attend midnight mass, and we never had the figure of baby Jesus or the manger. Instead, we had Christmas cards from anyone that my mother had ever met, lined up on strings over the living-room sofa. The writing and sending of cards was her job, and they were handwritten without a photocopied newsletter.
from The Guardian https://ift.tt/2rrB3W6
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