Sometimes, it is the most difficult time of the year

Christmas is a time when you get homesick — even when you're home.                   

                                                                                                                                    — Carol Nelson

Christmas is a necessity. There has to be at least one day of the year to remind us that we're here for something else besides ourselves.  

                                                                                                                                  — Eric Sevaride

When we recall Christmas past, we usually find that the simplest things — not the great occasions - give off the greatest glow of happiness.          

                                                                                                                                          — Bob Hope

AUBURN, Maine — I won't bother taking a head count at the dinner table this Christmas. Many of my loved ones are now a long string of fond memories and images bundled together and sealed in dozens books of photographs in our bedroom. 

There are piles of pictures of aunts and uncles, grandparents and friends mugging for the camera at barbecues or at holiday dinners. There are old and recent movies of them at the beach, pool or playing cards at our grandpa's home.

And all those Christmas cards have dried up. Relatives aren't around to send those thoughtful cards in the mail. That's what happens when you sneak past the high-water mark at 50 years old.

This is the most difficult time of the calendar when it  comes to missing all those familiar faces who gave us love and hope throughout the years. We feel pressured to celebrate a Martha Stewart holiday — where the hoity-toity fold their napkins a certain way and take hours arranging a perfect dinner table or preparing a meal that costs a small fortune. We are pelted with jewelry advertisements where a man dressed in a George Armani suit springs a diamond worth the entire budget of a third-world nation on his trophy wife.

Commercialism falls on us like a tree in each December. We watch people kill each other on Black Friday over a free DVD player. Next to war, this chaotic shopping day is one of humanity's aberrations in a season where we are supposed to reach out to our fellow man instead reaching for another shopper's neck.

I can see why some of us turn to the Dark Side like happy-go-lucky Darth Vader and go around pissing off loved ones with our Scrooge-like attitudes. I won't take that sinister to approach to Christmas, which for me, is a holiday that celebrates family — or what is left of my tribe. If I choose to become a prisoner of my past, I will miss all the those wonderful moments with my wife and son.

In some ways, Christmas is giant signpost on the side of a highway, refreshing our memory that we made it through the end of the year — intact.

There are numerous reasons why I put up a freshly-cut tree in the parlor and clutter the rest of our house with sentimental ornaments, which become more precious and priceless as time passes. There is the Dunkin Donuts coffee ornament, a cherish home-made decoration our son,  and the "Our First Christmas Together" that all hang with care on our well-lit tree. And when one breaks, I lament and move on because it is a thing, but the loss of relative or parent leaves a permanent hole in my heart.

It can be a cruel world, and death is a cruel hoax played on all of us at some point in our lives. But I have witnessed so many remarkable and loving moments from my family, teachers and students in my son's school. I cheer when a student, who has given up on himself, turn his life around on a dime and eventually go on to conquer the world.

Heartbreak and depression rises exponentially during the yuletide. I witness my father's memory disappear as Alzheimer's syphons off his precious recollections. I am helpless and it is hopeless to watch a good man's life dwindle away. I want to take Alzheimer's out for walk just like Michael did to Sal Tessio in the Godfather. Alzheimer's is a diabolical disease that not only destroys the brain but also emotionally scars entire families.

But this is also the season of hope. There are many remarkable people doing wonderful things for the greater good in December.

I still don't understand why it takes a holiday to bring out the best in most of us when we should ALL be helping out our fellow men year-round. One day of benevolence make any of us  Do-gooders of the Year. But if it takes a holiday to remind the human race to get off its ass, pick up a shovel, and dig in to make the world a more palatable place to live, what the hell, I am all for it.

Just remember this on Christmas Eve. When you are sitting at the dinner table with a family member as the turkey and corn come your, keep in mind the he or she might not be present next year. Nobody has lock on longevity and time has the final say in matters of life in death. Only time will tell.

So pull out that annoying camera, snap  a few hundred pictures, treasure every precious moment you spend with your family on this Christmas day.

When Dr. Seuss penned "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas," he had it right when he wrote, "Christmas Day will always be, Just as long as we have we."

The 12 Essays of Christmas, Day 2: The perfect tree

“Tradition: Sit with husband in a room lit only by tree lights and remember that our blessings outnumber the lights. Happy Christmas to all.” 

-Betsy Cañas Garmon

AUBURN, Maine - Nobody I know wants a Charlie Brown Christmas tree drooping in the living room.

Brown's fragile tree might work for the Peanuts, but here in the real world a runt like that one just wouldn't do in the parlor. 

Guests would talk about us. We can't have that. What would Martha Stewart think of us.

That explains why we go searching in the New England cold for the perfect tree to adorn our living room.

But it costs money when you are seeking perfection.

Selling out and purchasing a fake tree feels like I am celebrating an artificial Christmas. We did buy a small fake tree that would give Brown's worn-out plant a run for its money. We bought it at a yard sale, and it sits in our closed-in porch during the holiday season.

It's our back-up tree.

But imagine stumbling upon a vendor who sells you a fine, full Christmas tree to fit your budget.

He's out there, and he offers returning customers a cup of good cheer by knocking money off of the price of a tree. He doesn't do it for everybody, but he seems to enjoy trimming the cost for me, and I appreciate that.

For the last 10 years, this "guy" travels from Waterville with a forest of Christmas trees in tow and spends about a month selling them in Auburn.

Calling him a nice guy would be understating this human being's genuine concern for his fellow man.

Every holiday season, we seek him out and he enjoys our annual hour of conversation. He delights in seeing my son and loves hearing about his academic success in the classroom.

He is the reason why you can't write off humanity and declare the human race a train wreck.

We pay the man and drive away with our tree that will soon brighten our living room with the sweet smell of pine,  stunning lights and decorations.

I look forward to seeing him next year.

Setting up the tree and clearing out a corner of the living room is a quick-and-easy task.

But after the lights, wraps, and decorations are up and a flashing, bright star is placed atop of our tree, it is all worthwhile.

The tree connoisseur

My father taught me the art of choosing the right tree. He really knew how to pick them.

Dad would find something we could afford and haggle over the price of the tree with a stubborn vendor. These guys would have made great congressmen.

He scrutinized its appearance, checking for bare spots and damaged branches before making the vendor an offer he couldn't refuse.

Then came the Herculean task of jamming the tree into the narrow sleeve of an iron, home-made tree stand that should have been sold for scrap years ago.

Dad drove the stand up the stump of the tree while spewing adjectives that would make our ears smart. He directed his anger with every blow he took with a sledgehammer.

I can still hear those colorful words, along the clanging of the hammer, ringing in my ears.

Once the tree was upright, then came the decorations.

When I became a strapping young man, dad designated me as the official tree lifter. 

I carried my load.

Thanks to my father, I can pick out a fine tree at a reasonable price. But that rusting, old iron tree stand still sits in his cellar as reminder of Christmases long ago.

But I won't part with it. I will keep the hunk of steel as a warm reminder of those cold winter evenings picking out a tree with my father.