Good Morning.
My father was a New England gentleman. This meant, in his day, that he did not use foul language even when he smashed his thumb with a hammer. It meant he held doors for women and removed his hat upon entering a building. He had impeccable table manners, wrote letters of gratitude on personal stationery, and wore a suit to the office and church and at least a tie and coat to a restaurant or someone's home for dinner. He put on his one pair of jeans and an old shirt to clean out the garage or prune the bushes but never to leave the house. He paid his bills on time with either a check or in cash until the onslaught of the credit card industry when he got one card that he paid off every month.
Being a New England gentleman also implied a certain frugality, shall we say. This didn't mean my father wasn't generous; he gave to various charities and helped me through some uncertain times, but he didn't spend a plug nickel more than he had to on items like an electric coffeemaker, new porch furniture, or Christmas trees. The tin percolator from his college days made perfectly fine coffee on the stove and his mother's banged up metal chairs were charming. I gave him a Mr. Coffee one year for his birthday and it never left the box. I talked to him about the porch seating one time and he left the room.
The matter of the tree brought on considerable discussion every year, however. His wife could persuade him to do only so much: perhaps pick up some decent bread on the way home or bring some maple syrup, the real stuff, back from Vermont. The visit to the tree lot was a hopeless situation. Other people put up their trees shortly after Thanksgiving - nicely fatted trees with lots of lights and ornaments, and one family we knew left their tree up until the daffodils were in bloom. Not at my father's house. He waited until December 21st to purchase a tree when the only items left on the lot should have sold as kindling. The tree, such as it was, sat on the porch until the 23rd when it finally went up, was adorned with maybe two strings of lights - the big, hot, multi-colored variety that dated to the time of Thomas Edison - a handful of antique ornaments, a few strands of tinsel and some icicles, and some lengths of popcorn and cranberries fashioned by other household members to fill in the gaps that were many.
As a result of this annual childhood trauma, I have had up to six trees in my home, fake ones I can clamp together and decorate right after Labor Day if I'm so inclined. I've been trying to cut back, and this year, in my new surroundings, I will have room only for the one that is rather modest in size. My dad would be pleased, I think, except for the fake part, and I will make do because I am, after all, his daughter. I am also reusing the curtains from my previous home. The ones in the guest room are going to the kitchen and the fabric I recently discovered in a box I can swag or do something with in the living room.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
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