I believe, firmly, that one's tree should tell a personal narrative. I hate those trees that are perfect, the ones that look like they popped magically out of Martha Stewart Living. When everything matches, you can bet that there is not one meaningful ornament to be found.
Our trees are famous among our friends for being wonky. Usually, they are completely crooked, with limbs shooting off in various directions like firecrackers. This year's tree is rather subdued, since we bought it; usually, my step-father cuts the top off of a tree in New York and brings it back to PA for us to squeeze into our living room (which in the past was tiny - think Clark Griswold trying to fit his dream tree into his suburban living room). But our trees have personality. Every ornament belongs. Even the one I made in first grade that looks like a really creepy clown (and I hate clowns, ever since I made the mistake of watching It in seventh grade).
A few of my favorites.
|The spider I bought on clearance last year at Anthropologie.|
Who doesn't love a spider ornament?
|The Cheshire Cat.|
|One of many doll ornaments my mother made out of clothespins when she was a little girl.|
|My handsome father.|
|The latest addition to our tree. Snagged him up today for $2 at Target.|
|You know I have to have a Nightmare before Christmas ornament set.|
What kind of creepo would I be without it?
|The "m" I bought on sale last night at Anthropologie to top our tree this year.|