Hazy memory.  Who  knows if it was while we were dating or if it was after we married? Either way, it was before my son was born (before my son had me.)

I guess we just worked too many nights, or maybe we’re just not the most Christmasy people, never have been, but we put up the tree because it’s tradition.  The season just didn’t feel right without a tree in the living room for a few…weeks.  That year the tree went up but we never decorated it; just too damned tired or not really gung-ho for it? Who knows.

What I do recall is that we noticed at the last minute that there were no decorations on the plastic tree in the living room that would soon have presents beneath. (One gift, I recall, was a purple neon license plate holder for my Ford Bronco, which I loved, but had to cut the wires because the po-lice said it was ill-e-gal to have any other color on my truck besides what’s factory. Yes sir. Snip snip. No more pretty purple lights to adorn my darling Bronco, but it sure was the thought that counted.)  We each took a clean sock from our drawer and tossed it onto the tree, and THAT was how we decorated for Christmas one year: no lights, no ornaments, just socks on a tree.

Every year since, the final decoration is one clean sock from each of us, carelessly, but joyfully, flung at the tree. It’s not Christmas without this tradition. Tonight I tossed the socks while the guys were out doing last minute errands, the house dark and quiet and it all felt right.

May everyone find darkness tonight, and quiet, or the warmth of a simple tradition;  a nearly full moon. May everyone find a simple peace tonight and let that place occupy your hearts all year.  Sappy? Maybe. But I don’t care.

O Come, Light!