The holidays make you do crazy, uncharacteristic things.

Such as braving the crowded parking lots and even more crowded stores in order to get that one last thing you need to make someone you care about realize just how much you really love them. Somehow, that box set of music* will do the trick, whereas a simple, "Hey, I think you're the bees' knees" won't.

Such as baking, which any longtime reader will know is about as uncharacteristic for yours truly as it gets.



And, of course, including a photo of yourself from when you were a wee lass, so as to segue into the annual trimming of the tree process.

I traveled to my parents' house yesterday, where I conducted some of those necessary last-minute holiday tasks. Upon learning that I would be in town, my parents asked me to help them trim the tree. They hadn't done so yet, and, as my mother said to me, it wasn't quite the same if one of The Kids wasn't around to help out and laugh over the annual ornamental unveiling.

As the residents of my flat are restricted from ornaments on The Disco Christmas Tree (see Flickr for the groovy, hilarious image), I was pleased to be able to deck the halls and all of that good stuff.

There are two types of tree decorators, I've found. Those with the matching set trees and those with the mix-n-match designs. My family is a posse of mix-n-matchers. Each year, my parents get an ornament representing the year for them, and my brother and I each get one for us, similarly sentimental. The tree, therefore, is more a collection of memories than a clear and consise set of bulbs and lights.

We have four ornaments that my grandmother (paternal) put on her tree each year. The "First Christmas Together" ornament, circa late 70s, then the Baby's First Christmas ornaments (my parents got a little carried away with mine - I think we counted three from 1980 as my mother and I went through the boxes) and then the various and sundry guessing game pieces. A whale watch when Tom went on a field trip in thrid grade. A country store from the year my parents made the move to Vermont. A girl ready to swing a baseball bat the year I received my first all-league honors. A tie-dyed Santa the year Tom and I went to Woodstock. A turtle representing my role in "Arcadia," a hockey player the year Tom saw his first Bruins game.

It was a good thing I was around this time, as my mother would pull a piece out of the box, look it over and try to guess the memory.

"Who made this one?"

I looked over at the gold bulb with paint rings. "Tom."

"And this one?"

"Tom."

"And how about this?"

"Oooh! Me. That was the year we made them at Girl Scouts."

And so on.

As the Christmas music played, my mother and I sang along (I refrained - mostly - from dancing) and, just as the holiday CD ended, placed the last ornament on the final branch.

We sank into the couches and curled up with blankets as the lights flickered and caught the metallic sheen of a random piece.

"Looks good."

Mom smiled. "This looks great."

A happy marriage and a family's worth of memories on display. How could it not look lovely?

*Item detail changed to protect the gift recipients.