One Tote, Three Trees, and a Lot of Extension Cords

“Let me know if you need help bringing up the decorations,” Bob offered.

“Oh, I’ve already got them,” I told him. “They all fit in one tote now.” 

“Wow. One tote,” he said. 

One bin of Christmas tree decorations. Down from, oh, I don’t know, probably six? Christmas decorations formerly filled a closet to overflowing, I know that. 

Photo Credit: Bob King

I come from a long line of Christmas over-doers, and I married Frosty the Snowman. More is better was our holiday motto. One year, when Bob was recovering from a surgery over Christmas, he requested that the house look like “Santa threw up in here.” I gladly accommodated. Every surface, every wall, every room was chock full of holiday spirit. It was glorious, sparkly, and cluttered, and we loved it. Every year, I tried to invent clever new ways to decorate the mantle, buffet, and tree. (Hot tip: Epsom salt in jars makes great snow for mini Christmas villages.)

But like everything in life, things change. Three floors of Christmas started to feel like a lot, especially with fewer visitors and more work for just the two of us. We stopped putting up the basement tree and the Christmas train. It wasn’t sad; we just scaled back. But the closet was still full of stuff. So, in the Great Death Clean of 2024, I let go of a lot of the Christmas decorations that I hadn’t used in years, were no longer my style, were covered with glitter, or were just “a bit much” for the way we live now. 

What I kept was intentional. Things we had collected, a star tree topper we bought together, ornaments from trips we took, a few sentimental things from his childhood or mine, and some things that just make us both smile–felted mice and Christmas pickles, for instance. (And nothing, absolutely nothing, with glitter.)

Outside decorations are a bit of a different story. To look at Bob, you’d think he’d channel Clark Griswold and his need for “250 strands of lights, 100 individual bulbs per strand, for a grand total of 25,000 imported Italian twinkle lights!" And, you wouldn’t be wrong. There were years he did it up outside. Little-known fact: Bob spent some winters in college as a “professional” Christmas light-stringer. Using all his skills and discerning eye, he strung lights on our rooflines, windows, trees, and shrubs.

The problem with outside decorations starts with it being “outside.” And in Indiana, outside leading up to Christmas can be arctic tundra cold, windy, and miserable. “Just put them up earlier and don’t light them,” say the really smart people. Yes! We should! But, unlike the rational people, we don’t feel motivated to put Christmas lights out when it’s 70 degrees, or as the trick-or-treaters are making the rounds. So, there have been years when our outside lights were limited to a couple of colored spotlights and some string lights on the front porch. And, like the inside downsize, the outside decorating changed, and we were fine. Some years it was just two spotlights, then one, then maybe some string lights in a basket or wound around a table on the porch. Less festive looking, but fine.

Until. 

We had a bit of landscaping done around the time everyone was sent home to work during COVID. Three sad little trees were removed, replaced with three beautiful Norway Spruce trees in our side yard, forming a large triangle. We followed the landscaper’s instructions to the letter that summer to help these trees survive, and in the first few years, Bob was convinced at various times that we were losing them. But, they thrived. Silently growing and beginning to inhabit the space. 

Suddenly, last winter, they spoke to us. Norway Spruces are the quintessential Christmas tree shape. Symmetrical. Conical. Dark green. And, until then, ours had been completely au naturale. 

It was Bob’s idea. The old professional light-stringer stood, hands on hips, staring at those trees and thought: they should be lit. I said, “Let’s just light the one by the driveway and call it done. One outside Christmas tree is enough.” But Bob had a vision. And he was not seeing one lonely tree next to the driveway. 

The next decision was the type of lights. This we were both certain of: large, vintage-looking multi-colored lights. Not flashing, not chasing, not miniature, not trendy, not fashionable, no apps needed, and not solar-powered. This is going to take patience. And power. And extension cords. Lots of extension cords. 

When the lights first glowed on those spruces, we were in awe. One tree might have been “good enough,” but all three made a statement. There were just the right amount of lights per tree. No gaps, well placed, a lovely sight to behold. Bob had done a spectacular job. His vision was realized. I was proud. I beamed. 

Now, there’s no doubt that this isn’t a display that is to everyone’s taste. The vintage bulb look is a little quirky. The stillness of the lights may seem old-fashioned and boring. It’s not part of a huge panorama of lights and decorations. It’s just three stupid spruce trees in a side yard with some goofball lights. 

But as I take my walks in the dark, I see those trees standing like three sentinels. From just about everywhere on the street, you can see them keeping silent watch with their steady glow. Not garish, not blinding, just calm. When the wind blows (and it’s always windy at our house, it seems), the branches sway, and the lights dance. They come to life in a quiet way for me. Sometimes, I just stop and stare. 

I think it’s funny that inside the house, we have embraced a slightly more minimal Christmas. We may be the only two people who will see any of our inside decorations this year. So it was important to me for each thing we used to be meaningful. A felt garland I made draped over a mirror over the buffet. A few bottle brush trees gathered into tiny Longaberger baskets. A simple live tree, lit with creamy white bulbs and our little collection of treasures. Meanwhile, outside, we upsized. Our three spruce trees are decorated very simply. Not frantic. Not massive. Not overwhelming. But it’s not an afterthought. Not bitsy or precious. The lights are not scarce. They are big, abundant, and full of joy. 

Inside and outside, our Christmas wound up saying the same thing, just in slightly different dialects. It says: love speaks without shouting. It’s intentional, generous, uncomplicated, hopeful. It rejoices. 

For me, Advent is always the fastest four weeks of the year. This year has been no different. Like most people, our Advent is frantic, overloaded, and full of obligations that feel even more exhausting than usual. But in the middle of the craziness, some nights I just stop and look. I try—and believe me it takes great effort—to turn down the noise in my heart and mind, soak up both the simple and the abundant, and remember how love came to us. 

And I rejoice.