Family matters:

With excess tinsel, baubles from a bygone era and a Canadian Mountie, Pat McDermott is determined that this Christmas she’ll be in charge of the tree.

Pat McDermott’s Christmas tree tale

Family Matters Christmas 2017

Oh Christmas Tree Oh Christmas Tree

I fear you’ll be the death of me

Why do your branches droop and break? Why do you never stand up straight? Oh Christmas Tree Oh Christmas Tree

You might just be the end of me.

Where are the lights that once did blink? I must sit down. I need a drink. Oh Christmas Tree Oh Christmas Tree

This year you’ll be a test for me.

Ornaments from years ago Faces in the lights aglow Oh Christmas Tree Oh Christmas Tree

You’re looking pretty good to me.

The tree’s complete, just as I planned Tell me who turned on the fan? The tinsel flies around the room I’ll be right back, I’ll get the broom Oh Christmas Tree Oh Christmas Tree

I knew you’d get the best of me.

Our neighbours have put up Christmas lights. Little fairy lights wind around their terrace and in and out the railings. “At last,” I sighed. “Fellow travellers.” I’ve lived in Australia for 40 years and I’m totally acclimatised to the sun, the sand and the sea. But every year, when Christmas rolls around, I have a terribly Canadian urge to cover the whole country and everybody in it with tinsel.

As soon as I saw our neighbours’ efforts I raced down to the basement in search of our 37 boxes of Christmas decorations. They were stacked neatly in the corner. “My little lovelies,” I crooned. The MOTH (The Man of the

House) had, reluctantly, come down to help. We have fairy lights, candles for tables and ivy to wind along the fence. There’s a fragile creche for the hall table and, tucked away in boxes, the balls, baubles and ornaments for the tree. A Canadian Mountie in his Christmas red coat is nestled in the same box as two tiny koalas dressed as surf lifesavers. From shepherds to mice, there is something for everyone. They’re all going to hang from my tree and it’s going to be just grand.

Did I say MY tree? Yes I did. Because, dear reader, the tree is MINE, ALL MINE! I’m in charge. I’m the only one with the dedication, the determination and the perseverance to get it just right. “You’re the only one mad enough to do it,” says the MOTH. He may be right.

First to find the perfect tree: it should be evenly spaced, with generous branches. I’d like it to be tall and imposing and with no gaps or bare bits. The trees I pick rarely fit easily into a car. A good tree is always a little troublesome. It never goes quietly. When we got it home we stood it in a bucket of water and I pointed out its many fine points. The grandchildren pointed out bare bits and brown needles. Next we brought it inside and stood it firmly in a tub of sand. It fell over. We stood it firmly in a tub of sand wedged with some old bricks. It fell over. I bought a pricey tree stand. It didn’t fit. I began to panic and that led me to losing my head and blaming others. The MOTH saved the day with two bits of board, a hammer, some nails and a gin and tonic. I brought out the fairy lights and garlands, my mother’s old green glass decorations, red apples, tartan bows, silver stars, the Mountie and the koalas. Finally angels, gold and red balls and noisy bells. Last of all, a storm of tinsel thrown with wild abandon by our grandchildren. I do believe you might be able to see it from space. It’s certainly the best tree we’ve had.

Since last year. Merry Christmas.

A good tree is always a little troublesome.