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We usually wait until “Little Christmas” before taking our tree down, a tradition that Andy’s Mom instilled in him and one that happily carries on to this day. This year, despite my general dismissal of the seasonal insanity, I’ve been happy to see our tree there each morning and night, glowing with its pretty lights and ever-increasing collection of colorful ornaments. I think Andy enjoys it too; I’ve found him sitting on the couch in contemplation, reminding me of one of the first times I ever went to his home in Guilderland. I’d arrived unannounced and I asked what he was doing. He told me he was meditating – sitting on the couch with a rose quartz crystal and a candle – and I fell in love with him a little more. He had such a calm and resigned demeanor, while my resting stance at the time was wild and crazy. I still look to him when I need to feel calm and quiet.

As for this year’s tree, it will hold a special place in my heart since I nurtured it from a tiny plant. Having outgrown its space in the front yard, it got a send-off draped in Christmas finery and seasonal glory. Like its grower, its needles were sharp and unapproachable, but that only made me love it a little more. The prickly among us are mostly just misunderstood. I won’t judge or condemn anyone for their protection devices. 

As much as we loved it, it’s time to let it go. The tips have begun sprouting new growth, a sign that we had a very fresh tree, but also that’s almost overstayed its welcome. We need to turn the page. The sooner that Christmas ends, the sooner spring will arrive. It’s still along trek, but there are ways to get through it. A candle glowing in the dark. A stick of Tibetan incense curling smoke into the air. A cup of hot green tea sweetened with honey. A moment of meditation in the midst of the madness of winter.