After seeing Narnia on Saturday, Claire and I went to search for a suitable Christmas tree. Neither of us had ever done this before, had no idea what the going rate was, and were, for all intents and purposes, clueless. We spent some time walking around, giggling, and ringing each other with Christmas wreaths before we got to the cut-tree section. The young man came out, rubbing his hands together in the cold, and asked us what we were looking for.

"Well," I said, grinning, "We're looking for something green that's shaped like this." I held my arms up in a pyramid shape.

Five seconds of silence. Then we all burst out laughing.

"Oh," he said, "We can handle that."

Twenty minutes later, Claire and I emerged with a tree that was indeed green, shaped like a pyramid, and had nice, soft needles that wouldn't poke our tender arms. Then we stopped at the diner and ordered hamburgers and fries, which we ate while looking out the window at the truck bed. We didn't want anyone to steal our fine tree.

So now it's up, looking very cheery indeed, all decked out in gold tinsel and our rather eclectic assortment of family ornaments. All the books from my childhood Christmases are set out, and there is a Santa figurine on the piano. I noticed today while I was playing a Patrick Doyle piece that Santa has his arms out in front of him, rather like the zombies in the cult classic Night of the Living Dead. I can't help but like the fellow the better for it -- it's truly hard to be a zombie in a living world.

But, att eight years old, I would not notice the uncanny resemblance to elusive movie ghosts and would enjoy Santa merely for his Santa-ness. I would stare out the window for hours and look at the Christmas lights twinkling in the depths of the horizon. I would wonder at the mysterious appearance of the Christmas tree, and I would believe--against all physical evidence--that an angel had decked it out in the middle of the night for the pleasure of my wide-eyed awe in the morning.

Now I buy the tree, get up at 3 AM to decorate it, and blog about it the Monday after. Growing up isn't all it's cracked up to be.