As I packed away the decorations last weekend, I couldn’t help but reflect on the emotional highs and lows I experienced throughout the holidays.
Being the first Christmas without my mother was a definite low, and the night my Christmas tree fell was awful.
Karen Nazor HillChristmas is my favorite time of year. The season becomes official in my home the night we decorate the tree — usually the second weekend of December. I must have a big, full, live tree, and this year’s was probably the biggest we’ve ever had — a nearly 10-foot-tall Norway spruce. Thankfully, my husband supports my tree addiction, and every year he helps me pick out the most beautiful one on the Christmas tree lot.
The Lancaster (my maiden name)-Nazor Hill tradition of having my children help decorate the tree has morphed into a new tradition — it’s now the grandchildren who help me. Watching them hang the ornaments and icicles — yes, I use the old-fashioned icicles because each one reflects the lights, making the tree a zillion times brighter — is just like watching my own children decorate the tree when they were young.
William, 2, hung about a dozen ornaments on the same lowest limb. Adorable.