Traditions

It's the first Saturday of Dec. Traditionally the day that my father, The Hobbit, would gather us all together and put up the Xmas tree. My father LOVED Xmas. For a man so usually restrained and classy and self-assured, the Silly Season took hold of him in ways that I can't account for. It gave him permission to let his inner Tacky Consumer out for a run. Mum and Daddy-Oh's house was filled with bells that chimed "Silent Night", Nutcrackers which performed voice activated electronic renditions of "Sleigh Bells".

This the man who instilled in me a love of museums, art and architecture, but had "Hooked on Christmas" on loop for the entire month of December. One day I will blog about the Furtive Santa.

So today is the first time since he died that I have been able to get out my Xmas tree.

I must be his daughter in all senses, as my xmas tree is a tribute to tack.

It's a revolving, purple fibre-optic tree.

And I love it.

I love it more because My Dad bought it for me. We saw it in Target in Aug 2002 and both gasped with sheer wonder at the complete cheap tawdriness of it.

I proudly confess to assembling it on the August Saturday and displaying it a full FOUR months before anyone else.

I have had people knock on my door at night, breathless with the shlock frowziness of my tree, asking where I got it from.

So in about 1/2 an hour, Mater Beige is dropping by, we're going to have a coffee and dress my tree.

And talk about how much Dad would have loved it.

Will post photos when it's up.

Off to pop "Santa Baby" on loop.