HAMADRYADS

Today is definitely a blogger day. I'm relaxed, it's the weekend, and we're putting up the tree!

Yesterday's chicken curry became today's chicken quesadillas. Lorenzo's favorite, Pot Roast with Mushroom Gravy (the ultimate comfort food), is in the oven. He even trained covetous eyes on my leche flan, but that ended up going to our gardener, Jose. Hope my little holiday offering brightens up his evening comida as his overdue visit brightened up my lawn.

Lorenzo rummages through the garage for the colored lights. He comes upon some pictures taken last Spring, most of them featuring our backyard pool in all its chlorine glory. The pictures bring us both a brief ripple of warmth...sunny weather and the sight of our two precious boys, two seasons younger, shorter and plumper than they are now.

Funny how much they've grown in half a year. Troy, whose curls now run topsy-turvy around his cherubic face, still had short, straight baby hair, and Lance had what was referred to as an "apple cut" in my childhood days. He now wears his hair short, but his "antenna", brought about by an unruly second cowlick, is still there. Lance will always be our bumblebee, and Troyee (my little breath of heaven on angel wings) will always be a plum-plum boy. I can almost see them both cringing at these nicknames when they get to be teenagers. I wonder what they will look like then, but I'm no a rush to visit the future. Time runs way too fast as it is.

Indeed, this being the season, I would rather take comfort in the ghosts of Christmas past. In fact, it would probably be more accurate if I called this treatise "The Hamadryads of Christmas Trees Past". This would be the perfect time to wax sentimental on trees, since my tree is being put up in the living room even as I type this.

My first Christmas memory takes place in my grandparent's house in Marawi in the Philippines. Marawi is the capital of Lanao del Sur in Mindanao, and it is perched up in the mountains, much like Baguio, only better because Baguio does not have Lake Lanao. I'm not sure if I remember a Christmas tree in that setting, but since my Lola Luz is a true Betty Crocker type, I'm pretty sure we had one. I don't remember a Christmas tree in our home in Baguio ("The Brown House"), but I do remember the giant stone fireplace in our living room, which was a perfect Santa Clause fireplace.

We did have a Christmas tree when we were growing up in Manila, a diminutive model sent from the States by our Auntie Olive. I remember it's usual place in the foyer, perched on a stand in front of the piano, displacing the mahjong table, which would be exiled to the library for the holidays. My Lola Viring would decorate the tree with balls, lights, pearl garlands and a flashing star, which sounds wonderfully normal, except the tree would be surrounded by multi-colored Japanese lanterns instead of parols (which I guess are too pedestrian for my Lola). Every year, around December, our house could be mistaken for a Japanese restaurant, if it weren't for the giant inflatable Santa head occupying the place of honor, right smack in the middle of our living room. Like clockwork, Santa would always appear on December 16th, watching over us being naughty or nice, until his brief reign ends on January 6th.

This year, I'm pretty sure my Lola will have the same tree up, and I'm willing to bet Malumanay will again be ablaze with Japanese lanterns and Santa head.

The first, and thankfully last, live Christmas tree I had was when I was living in Miami with my ex-husband. He was Jewish, and didn't particularly care for Christmas, but caved in to my entreaties for a tree because I was desperately homesick and 7 months pregnant with my oldest son, Max. I wanted to get an artificial tree, just like the one I grew up with, but he said that was declasse and anyway, REAL people bought REAL Christmas trees.

I remember feeling sorry for that tree when I chose it from the lot. My Mom and I trimmed the tree that night, and it was, literally, a very painful experience, leading to the discovery that pine needles pricked like REAL needles. I will never, ever buy a live Christmas tree again in my life. Besides, I cannot in all conscience reconcile the act of killing a tree to celebrate the arrival of He who brings eternal life.

It's appaling to see how people are so desensitized these days. For me, choosing a tree from a lot is no different from choosing a fish from the tank of a Chinese restaurant, knowing the next time you see the poor thing is on a platter with soy sauce on the side. "The Food Channel" once featured this really sick place, where people would pay up to $100 a pound for sushi that is so fresh, it is served between the dead fish's still writhing head and tail ("Nerve endings!", the restaurant owner proudly explains). No wonder this world is so messed up.

Before anyone recruits me to PETA however, I will admit to being a hypocrite when it comes to my favorite crustacean, lobster. During those rare times when I can afford it, I humanely ask the waiter to choose one for me (female please, with lots of roe!). This is a convenient way to avoid passing out the death sentence.

I did manage to turn my ex-husband on to Christmas. He didn't have the heart to rob Max of the holiday just because he had a bris. One of my happiest Christmas memories was going to Duty Free in Manila and buying the biggest Christmas tree I could lay my hands on (no live trees in P.I.!). Back in our suite at the Mandarin, I trimmed the 8-foot tree while Max excitedly watched, getting in the way much like Lance is now underfoot with Lorenzo in the living room. Max loved that tree so much, it followed him to Canada. I know they put it up in their basement last Christmas, with the aid of Connie, my ex-husband's ex-office manager, freshly Fed-Exed from Manila (what she was doing in Toronto was the subject of much speculation).

I remember my first Christmas, post-divorce. Lorenzo and I were already together then, and he flew back to the States ahead of me, my itinerary being Manila-San Jose by way of Miami, where I spent a few precious days with Max.

Lorenzo picked me up at San Francisco International and whisked me to Milpitas to celebrate the holidays with the Serenos. I was still a neophyte in the family, having just met them Spring of that year. Tatay and Nanay were very gracious, taking me sightseeing that weekend. I remember Kuya Sammy driving the van, Tatay riding shotgun, and Nanay insisting we stop at the nearby Vietnamese bakery to buy yummy meat-filled buns for our baon. We met up with Jun, Selina's family and Tito Ed (who would later be a godfather at our wedding) on the way to Monterey and Carmel, and had a wonderful trip.

Back home, I helped Nanay put up the tree. I felt really flattered when she complimented the way I arranged the colored lights, twining them around the branches as opposed to merely stringing them around in a spiral. Of course, this style called for a lot more lights, so Lorenzo had to buy more boxes when he picked up his kids, Joey and Chris, from his ex-wife's house. Chris helped his Dad and me finish the tree, taking over when Nanay retired for the night. The three of us worked feverishly until the wee hours, never stopping until we put the crowning touch on the tree, a blinking star, securely festooned to a pencil for maximum stability.

Lorenzo and I got engaged during that trip. I remember the date: December 28, 1998.

Flash back to the present: Lorenzo is putting up the tree in the living room with Lance, our precocious 3-year-old, in attendance. Troyee, still a baby at 16 months, was relentlessly pursuing the ornament box from all directions, so he was exiled to the family room. He is now contentedly puttering about my feet with his sippy cup.

I wonder if Kuya Sever and Anna are also putting up their tree, a 6-foot one which we gave them last year. It used to be our old tree when we were still living in our townhouse. My question is answered when Kuya Simon squawks my husband on his Nextel, saying Anna won the grand prize, a flat screen TV, in her company's Christmas party. Anna and Kuya Simon's wife, Ate Baby, work together, so I guess the four of them: Kuya Simon, Ate Baby, Kuya Sever and Anna, are living it up in SanFo.

Lorenzo, whose company party is also going on in San Jose, chose to stay home tonight to man the Christmas Tree Technical Committee, whose task it is to assemble our monster 9-foot tree. I head Creative, which means I will put up the ornaments once all the lights are up and running.

I love our Christmas tree, which came pre-lit with over a thousand Christmas lights. It's a formidable presence in our living room, commanding everyone's attention. Now, I must sheepishly confess that when it comes to Christmas trees, I am an unabashed child. Not for me those formal trees, done up in color coordinated ribbons and ornaments, with themes from Medieval to Country to the latest fad of the season. No, my tree will always be a "Kid's Tree", with keepsakes collected from yuletides past strewn higgledy-piggledy over every available branch, all of them telling their own stories:

Lance and Troy's "baby's first Christmas" ornaments,
a white Precious Moments heart, celebrating "our first Christmas together" as husband and wife,
a little round 2001 frame with a tiny family picture,
a snowman from someone's birthday cake,
a beaded candy cane I salvaged from a gift basket...
the memories are endless.

This year we plan to add a "house" ornament, to celebrate our buying our first home. It will take its place among the colored glass balls and icicles, the mini stained-glass houses, the delicate Romanian "turnips", the little gingerbread people, the silver pine cones, and a motley crew of snowmen: small, simple wooden ones, medium ones with woven caps and sleds, and big, fat plastic ones liberally sprinkled with glitter. And oh, did I mention the colored lights, which we pile on in addition to the white ones? And finally, presiding over everything, a Father Christmas teddy bear perched on top of our tree, in place of a star.

As you can see, I can go on and on about our Christmas tree, but Creative has a lot more up its sleeve. For instance, I have a red and blue plaid tree skirt with appliqued snowmen, matching the appliqued stockings on my mantel. We all have our own Christmas characters in our stockings: Lorenzo is Santa Claus, I am a mommy penguin. Joey is a reindeer, Chris and Max are young snowmen, Lance is a baby penguin and Troy is a gingerbread boy. My Mom, who celebrated last Christmas with us, had a Father Christmas stocking. I am putting it up with the rest because it looks too good to be relegated to the garage. Even Boris the Cat has his own stocking, but his will be hung in the laundry room.

A wooden wreath hangs on my front door with a teddy bear bidding everyone "welcome to our cabin", and a gingerbread Mom adorns the door to my coat closet. Christmas candles complete the look: a peppermint pillar, a red ball, and a Christmas tree candle garden. And of course, the piece-de-resistance, the thorn on Lorenzo's side (because Lance hasn't stopped badgering him about it all day), a battery-powered train set which goes around a circular track perfectly bordering my tree skirt.

The boys are finally asleep, and I sort through the ornament box which so fascinated Troy. I take the keepsakes out of their boxes one by one, making sure to keep the original tissue paper and plastic they were wrapped in. I sort them in piles, frustrated again, as I am each year, by the glass balls, which keep rolling everywhere. I survey the damage. More casualties this year...broken balls and icicles, missing hooks, torn threads. I throw away the shards of glass, and work with what's left. Lorenzo swears there were more ornaments last year, and looks in the garage.

I hang my the first colored ball, a delicate pink glass number. There's lots more to be hung before the babies wake up. I'm sure they will be adding their creative input in the morning, knocking down balls here and there, stealing snowmen, biting my gingerbread people. Even Boris leaves his mark, chewing the branches like he would with a natural tree. But this tree will survive the onslaught from kids and cat, much like its predecessors.

And when everything is hung and in place, tinsel icicles will be sprinkled as a final touch, and everyone will retire to a much-deserved celebratory mug of cocoa, topped with mini-marshmallows, melting to a froth.

Hot cocoa, anyone?