Monthly Archives: December 2012

Our perception of “free” is truly askew

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We were fortunate enough to be able to purchase a beach house when our kids were still fairly young. The previous owners left furniture, kitchen stuff and lots of junk (Easter baskets, dead flower arrangements,sand buckets-with sand,lobster forks,and a plaid sleeper sofa and yellow velvet loveseat) with the premises. Included with the newly acquired possessions was a television which resembled a relic from the 70’s. It was a massive box with a little screen which weighed a ton. After numerous ferry rides to the mainland Walmart, we stuck some rabbit ears on it, connected a VCR and Nintendo to it and a huge piece of tin foil for family entertainment. Being at the beach, meant “being at the beach”. I saw no sense in putting a satellite on the roof of a house which couldn’t sustain a storm door for more than a few hours, due to the high winds. The TV did pick up 54 channels, some in Vietnamese, which thrilled our youngest son. He bragged to everyone that we got a free TV.  Our estimation of cost for the television was about $47,000.00!

It is New Years Eve, today. We recently made a move to Northeast Texas from Sugar Land, Texas. The city of Sugar Land always mailed a beautiful calendar, with expressive scenes of the city. It was exquisitely executed with photos suitable for framing. I always wondered which photographer, printer and shipper was the brother in law of which politician to receive that gig. The arrival of the calendar was timely and expected. The Sugar Land calendar was “free”. There was no ordering, sitting on hold after 10 ringy dingys, or delays to making a request on an inept website. Our estimation of cost for the calendar was approximately $2,800.00 per year. Powderly, Texas doesn’t create such masterpieces. We are going to have to cough up $10.00 for 2013.

Department stores and grocery stores are famous for making you think you have received “value” in every purchase. The coupons have extreme exclusions and never include brands from vendors who don’t want to be associated with sale, low cost, or door-buster prices. Every item in the store has an exorbitant marked up original price. The item is then marked down with a red pen and put on a rack with a sign exclaiming everything is 50% of the “marked” price. The coupon, which brought you into the store is not applicable for any of the items your heart has yearned for. When the patron has their chosen items brought to the cashier, they are proudly told they have saved $247.00 for the items they have just paid $67.00 for. The truth of the matter is, you have just paid 50% more due to bingo price jumble confusion reality.

Our perception of “free” is truly askew. I worked for a home builder, selling homes to people who could hardly afford them. To “clinch” or close a sale, I always gave them a “free” refrigerator. The glee in their eyes, seeing the stainless steel majestic Whirlpool refrigerator in their new kitchen was “priceless”. Somewhere in the sales contract, an additional $2,000.00 was added, usually before I even was employed there, to accommodate the usual and customary sales technique of giving the new home owner a refrigerator, costing the company a couple hundred dollars.The spanking brand new home, no one had ever walked on the wall to wall carpet with dirty feet,  cost the buyer $345,000.00, on sale from $365,000.00, with a true value of $285,000.00. Nothing like waiting months for the home to be built, every material possession you own is in a U-Haul with all of the kids, to find out the appraisal is a helluva lot lower than what you paid – but you did get a free refrigerator! The estimated cost of the shiny new refrigerator, $60,000.00.

Think about what is “free” the next time you purchase a vehicle, get a “free” hotel room for gambling or sitting through an excruciating sales pitch for a timeshare or “buy one, get one free” Ritz crackers at Publix! Next week the crackers will be on sale for half the price and won’t be stale because you can’t eat two boxes of crackers at once. Free- WriteInSpace

 

 

 

 

 

Snow in Paris

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Yes, I’ve seen snow in Paris, France, but this blog entry is about Paris, Texas. After living south of Houston for a long, long time, seeing snow on the ground was an extremely rare event. Except for an occasional dusting, which usually melted within minutes, snow was non-existent.

I would see snow when traveling. My boss would get mad and ship my skinny butt to Chicago in January. A relative would pass away, always in the winter, in Pennsylvania, during a white out blizzard. Christmas in years past with my brother would always yield some of the white stuff. At home in Sugar Land, TX or Crystal Beach, TX, it was almost a guarantee that snow would not be an issue. This is the reason we have no snow boots, scarves, gallashes, snow tires, mittens, muck-a-lucks, or slickers.

After attending a lovely Christmas party in nearby Oklahoma on Christmas day, flurries began to fly. It was novel and fun to watch them out the window like tiny butterflies. Then the flurries started sticking to the bushes and accumulated on the ground. The ride back to Paris was much like gliding through wonderland. Move slow and steady to avoid any hydroplaning or sliding into a ditch. Folks with bald tires and no common sense don’t ever seem to get it. 2012 055They become constant entertainment during your over the road journey.

My ultimate favorite driver is the one buzzing by at 70 mph and attempting to pass in a lane literally covered with snow and ice. The center median almost instantly becomes their landing strip – if you are lucky and they don’t roll over your vehicle. Just as dangerous, is the driver who can not see out any of their snow or ice-covered windows, the defroster never did function properly and they are crawling at 15 mph. You have angels on your shoulders if you see their white mini Cooper in the white out before driving up their trunk.

Inexperienced drivers either never watch the news, don’t comprehend what they hear on the news or are just plain stupid when they are informed of the dangers with black ice. The sky can be blue with cotton fluffy clouds and the temps have improved to where the inside of your nose does not instantly freeze. These drivers now think they are exempt from black ice syndrome. The Chevy truck I saw yesterday, with his engine in the front seat, may benefit from listening the next time.

This weather is brutal. I am not a fan. It may be time to invest in some electric gutchies because I am worn out from being cold already.

 

Cosmetic counter encounters

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I am working a temporary/seasonal position which encounters a multitude of characters each day. It has become a game to size them up and figure out their personalities within a few seconds. I have been around quite a few blocks in my life and am proud to say my feelings are getting confirmed with a few minutes of conversation with each counter encounter.

There are a lot of lonely souls in the world. Either that or I appear to be shrink like, mother like or generic enough for people to “really tell me how they really feel”. An elderly gentleman, one who has fought in the Korean conflict, very patiently explained to me the entire world was headed for disaster because the Democrats were in power and the rich were now going to lose everything they ever worked for. His concerns were real. His purchase was Estee Lauder bath powder for his wife’s Christmas present. He’s afraid of the “fiscal cliff”, has a few bucks and certainly doesn’t spend if on his wife.

The next contestant for story of the hour was Mary. She, too, remembers when bread was a few pennies a loaf. Her day job is caring for an “elderly” person. She takes extreme pride in her position and speaks softly and lovingly of her charge. Mary’s demeanor is so compassionate, I’d swear she was a saint in her previous life. She is the epitome of proper corporate etiquette. She introduced herself and her daughter to me and continually called me by my name during our appointment. Either that or she was pounded with Emily Post since childhood, as was I. Subsequent visits were repeated with the same familiarity and she never missed a beat of our previous conversations. Mary always purchases hundreds of dollars of high ticket fragrances for gift giving. Mary will be standing on the right hand side of St. Peter on judgment day. I wish she lived next door to me.

Then there is the shim who tells me all products are overpriced and stink. Shim is an old term, most definitely politically incorrect, which refers to a person whom you can not immediately identify which sex they are. It becomes difficult in addressing them so as not to offend. If you call them “sir” and they are a “ma’am”, it becomes awkward to say the least. I then try to differentiate by behavior. They act like a rude man by speaking really loud in a lowered voice, slamming all products in order to get a lower price or to exclaim the disdain for the product in general, or they girly pantywaist with the decision making. “Can I smell this one and this one and this one and this one?” For what I get an hour, the last thing I want to do is incite a riot at the cosmetic counter of a small town department store. I always save my instigation for larger and more prominent forums – like Point State Park in downtown Pittsburgh! This she-he person will show no satisfaction for anything shown to them because they are unhappy with themselves.

Next up, is the family unit. This can include multiple generations. An infirm grandma, needing assistance to walk and a reminder of where she is. The husband, getting constant reprimand because he keeps saying they can’t afford whatever it is the wife wants. Of course, we can’t forget the very little children, some who have been trained to professionally lick the glass of the display counters. The six year old to 12 year old siblings are busy spraying each other with fragrance testers containing offensively overpriced “parfum” on each other or dropping the bottles on the tile floor below. This crew always falls for the “instant credit” so they can purchase more stuff to put in their too small of a home because it is crowded with things they don’t need. I can bet the Ponderosa the credit line will be very small because they are so overextended, they have to take the last two dollars from Grandma’s purse, for gas to get home. God forbid, they would use the money set aside for Fat and Greasy Fried Chicken on the return journey back to the homestead. If they are approved for a credit line of $200.00, it is guaranteed they will spend $199.99 on shimmer eye shadow, florescent pink nail polish and a manly scented “stink no more” for the husband. This family appears to be typical in the local culture.

My ultimate favorite cosmetic counter encounter is the pair of bitches who speak to me as if I just stole their booze money. They have absolutely no intention of purchasing anything. They want free fragrance samples. They insist on having me bend over thirty to forty times to spritz cards of every bottle in the display cases – because I don’t give them the free fragrance samples. Then, they want a make over so they can complain I didn’t make them look like Julia Roberts. Sorry, but I can’t correct the “rode hard and put up wet” appearance with a sit down. Both of them are trying to outdo each other slamming every product and actually accusing me of having a bad attitude when I inform them of the prices. One such duo even insulted one of my patiently waiting customers because she politely asked if she should shop first and when should she return to be assisted. The bitch duo told her to wait her turn because they were there first. I knew they would not cough up a dime for anything. Their appearances told me it was the first time they had seen sober daylight in months. I didn’t have a cosmetic in the place for low light dive enhancement.

Cosmetic counter encounter 12-27-2012

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crying Christmas trees

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Christmas trees hold a great deal of emotion. They are magical reminders of all the good things life offers us. They are the epitome of sparkle, lights and even our own creativity. We are proud of them. We show them off. They are a true reflection of status and the lives of our families.

Christmas trees hold a lot of secrets and tradition. We attach memories to them because they encompasses the theme of the season as a whole. We don’t always share how these trees were created or the baggage hanging from the branches. There’s a lot of crying Christmas trees standing staunch and steadfast in front windows, living rooms and family rooms in our neighborhoods.

Charlie Brown made it socially acceptable to have a tiny sapling of a tree with a few needles hanging on for dear life. Trees are a luxury when your funds are low or non-existent. It becomes important to give up food, make the car payment late or scrape quarters together from under the couch to get a tree.

Being a brand new bride with two little girls, a broken sewer line, debts out the ass and a money pit house didn’t leave much money in the budget for a Christmas tree bedazzled in light and covered with Nieman Marcus ornaments. My brother in law was laid off from US Steel and his funds were zero’d out also. He and my then husband came up with a plan to have real Christmas trees in our homes by purchasing them at the eleventh hour on Christmas eve. He went to numerous tree lots and asked when they would be closing and asked if the real pines would be discounted. At eight o’clock on Christmas eve, he and my spouse drove our little Pontiac Sunbird to the lot across from Continental Can in West Mifflin, PA and bought two live trees for pennies on the dollar. Strapped them to the roof of the car, overhanging the windshield and drove them to our respective homes.

I had faith this plan would work because I had purchased a couple of bucks worth the craft felt and some sequins and hand sewed ornaments for the promised Christmas tree. Our little girls assisted in gluing sparkles and glitter on the little figurines which resembled the symbols of the season. Of course the paper chains and photo ornaments made in pre-school were proudly hung on the branches they could reach. That tree resembled hope and dreams for all blessed and miraculous events.

The next year, we didn’t get any smarter knowing Christmas was coming, again. The finances were tight and my precious grandmother suggested we cut the top off of one of her giant pine trees to use for our “have to have a live tree for Christmas” engagement. It was comical watching my white collar, overweight, non-mechanical, non-outdoors-man, husband tackle that fiasco. Thank God he was highly insured which took the edge off of my extreme anxiety. Again, the handmade ornaments were proudly and lovingly placed on the branches our little daughters could reach. The tin foil star was propped on the top and magic was again, created. This was the year my grandfather died on Christmas Day.

During the holiday season a few years later, one of our little girls was killed in a horrific car accident. Because we still had a very young daughter who deserved a happy life, a tree with tradition had to be put up each of the following holidays. The ornaments with glitter and puffy paint so gingerly applied by tiny hands had to be taken out of the Joseph Horne Company cardboard box and ever so gently placed on the Christmas tree. My heart could hear the Christmas tree cry.

Two more children and years of adding their special ornaments followed. Kids need to know what they create is cherished and special. As they each grew, so did the number of treasures for the Christmas tree.  I have to admit, it was excruciatingly difficult to re-create the magic without missing our daughter, hearing her sing Jingle Bells in my head and oh, so missing the feeling of her little arms hold on to me. The helpless void never diminishes. It can never go away because we loved them so much and miss them more than words can describe. They are not forgotten by any means or ways.

There are 20 Christmas trees in Newtown, Connecticut crying. Some of them will be standing till February with no needles on the branches but little ballerina slippers and cowboy rocking horses will proudly stand guard. The school photos glued to construction paper with the glitter borders and the green and red paper chains will still have their arms wrapped around those trees. Little siblings and cousins and friends don’t understand the enormous burdens and crosses being carried right now.

The parents of the 20 Newtown angels are now members of a club no one deserves to join. These little children now belong to all of us. Hold them close in your heart. The crying Christmas trees hold their cherished memories and the signature of their important lives and love.

 

The subject of blogs

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WriteInSpace – The Subject of Blogs

WordPress is an amazing product and process for launching and maintaining a blog. Not only does it provide most imaginable tools required to enable us creative spirits to “Write In Space”, it also provides access to some of the masterpieces published utilizing WordPress.com mechanics. Great blogs are listed within the WordPress, “Freshly Pressed” section. Diverse blog subjects from domestic violence, to weddings, to beauty are included in the vast array of themes this week.

The subjects of blogs, in itself, is a fascination. A great number of them are used as diaries. Why anyone would think it is OK to put your intimate matter out to float for anyone to grab is beyond my comprehension. Do they not know you can create a private diary on a tablet or laptop? I know, we humans, seem to think each nano second in our wonderful lives is fabulous and should be shared. Age and experience has taught me to reassess the exercise and delegate the project to another more private vehicle for access. In other words, pull the Levi’s up and if you don’t like someone, don’t associate with them. Play in someone else’s yard for a change.

The subject of blogs leads to “hits”. A defined subject matter is more searchable and predictable to read. Ramblings will not keep an entourage’s attention. It has become a problem with this blog. It was originally set up to assist new writers. It was successful but was not being updated in a timely matter due to a previous work, travel schedule. In fairness to readership, it became what it is now – whatever “it” is! It is hard to find ourselves in a crowd of genius when you’re on a new adventure.

Blogs with a broad subject matter do provide surprises along the journey. A “boomer” site I have been following has lead to insights with revelations on the side trips. The writer has hundreds of categories due to leanings in different directions. It even includes her bucket list and travel schedules. I feel I have gotten to know her and share a lot of similarities.

Blog subjects also share the gift of learning something new. The validity of the contents depends upon the writer’s credentials. This is where the biography or the “about the writer” come in real handy. My confidence will be shaken a tad if I learn to drop the transmission in my Buick from a brain surgeon. I will, however, print a recipe from an astronomer’s site if they grew up in a Hungarian household. I have been around long enough to learn an electrician may be multi-talented with the additional expertise to show me how to embroider a rose knot on my camisoles. Again, it depends on the proficiency of the information source.

Blogs are great for sharing “pieces of us”. Being a benefactor allows the knowledge boards in our heads to expand. If we are angered by what we read, we are thinking. Emotion and stupidity always get our goat and llama. There aren’t too many blogs out there advertising they are stupid. It all comes down to education, maturity, experience and our perception of the universe.Subjects must be sorted out like laundry. Don’t mix the delicates with the jeans.

Personality will always be a hit. Charismatic chants, novel verse and poetic lyrics will always rise to the top. Even bad poetry can get my attention if the subject line is a masterpiece in intellect. Simple subjects and humor will allow you to live longer. Don’t forget to laugh everyday. It also tones our faces better than Estee’ Lauder can.

I always wonder what the reader thinks, if there are no comments. As in sales, “no” is a starting point. Negative criticism is the commencement of improvement. Always let me know when I am off or outa subject or running from third base to second base. It won’t be the first time I’ve driven in the wrong direction.

 

 

 

 

The preacher’s kid

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A conversation last night with a new acquaintance led me to think about the preachers kids I have known in my life. There is a common thread with each one of them. Different views at each level of my life have left me with the same conclusions.

I knew Trudy in high school. Why I remember her name is a miracle. Her parents named her Gertrude after a grandmother, who I am sure was a saint because no one in their right mind would name a child Gertrude. Trudy was the proverbial blonde haired, blue eyed, golden girl. Everyone circled around her charismatic personality and charm. Her daddy was the pastor of the Presbyterian church. In a WASP, steel town, blue collar community, this was a big deal. It is as though there was built-in celebrity status. She wore the latest trends in fashion, drove a new car in 11th grade – I believe it was a Mustang, and was invited to the upper echelon homes for dinner. I remember thinking that new car came from the dimes and nickels little kids took to Sunday school for their church offerings. My siblings and I shared a Chevy that was 10 years old when we received it. Trudy was a flirt. She danced on the edge of bad girl status. She never got into trouble for “necking” in the halls at school. She was never wrong when confronted about the flag being stolen off the big flag pole in front of the high school. Her reputation was sterling because no one had balls enough to question it. She ended up marrying some old fart right out of high school and was rarely heard from again.

John was a child who lived across the street when we were first married and raising a young family. John’s father was saturated in faith at the Lutheran church, where his wife was a teacher at the Lutheran school. John attended the Lutheran school and was a Boy Scout sponsored by said church. He was not allowed to associate with “outsiders”. Our innocent son, at about age 9, asked if John could go to the community swimming pool with us one morning. When his mother was asked if John could go, she informed me she would have to call his father at work to ask permission! Permission was denied because the last time they went to the pool, there were black kids there and this was not the element they wanted their child exposed to. It has taken me 20 years and I have never gotten over that statement. John grew up in his cocoon environment with the morals and upbringing of a caged dog. When he was 17 years old and a senior in high school, he came to us because he was seeing the 21 year old “assistant youth pastor” in the evenings at her apartment. God knows what he told his parents he was doing – bible study, choir practice, sharing the good word? He obviously was sharing un-church-like conduct. John was very upset because the assistant youth pastor was pregnant. He came to us because he stated in no uncertain words that if his father found out, he would kill him. I believed him. He came to us for guidance – the worldly heathens. After extensively discussing all possible options, John and the assistant youth pastor attended counseling sessions and an abortion was performed. This became “our little secret”. One thing heathens and worldly people are known for is keeping confidential information, confidential. We don’t write the daily news in the church announcements and ex-communicate people for mistakes.

I recently met a young lady, Carol, who lives on the same street as her aunts, uncles and grandparents. Her father is a preacher and according to her, they live a “good” life. She describes her father’s passages of faith as old school baptist. Carol and I were discussing the fact she is in her mid twenties and her mother wishes she would find a good man to marry. I made the off hand remark that it would be better to just live with a man you’re committed to instead of a formal marriage agreement. She promptly informed me her father would forbid that. Their morals are extremely high. I took this as a judgment of my morals. I asked her what is the difference between a personal commitment to another human being, to love them and cherish them forever and a $75.00 marriage license and a $100.00 fee to the preacher? I received no answer. I also left unsaid, when was Carol going to grow up and make decisions for herself? She’s a sweet girl but I am afraid she is going to live with mom and dad until she’s 50, unless they can find a programmed robot for her to marry.

Paul was the pastor’s kid at the church I attended when I was young. He was ornery and real. He was in my Sunday school and confirmation classes. During choir practice he would be accused of “not trying” because the poor kid could not carry a tune. He did sing loud and excruciatingly bad. Paul and I were always put in the front row for church services. We were both habitual talkers and at times, his dad would stop midway in the service and tell Paul to be quiet. This was an unpretentious family without regard of holding up a front or being something they were not.

There appears to me to be a lot of leaning on religion. It is an excuse not to think for yourself. The religion thinks for you and human beings can not always follow the rules. If a rule is broken, you are judged, ex-communicated and not allowed to take communion. Yea, baby, that is taking care of your own. Don’t get me started on the Catholics.

Reflecting on my own previous observations, it appears to be a money making machine. I know it is big business. Follow the scriptures and you will follow the money. I know young families almost starving to death due to the economic collapse, unemployment and recent recession, but they still “tithe” to the church. Their children don’t have decent clothes to wear to school and soap is a luxury.

During the initial collapse of US Steel in Pittsburgh, every church sermon was geared around getting my friends and neighbors to come to church. If money was not put into the offering, the church would not have enough bucks to pay the electric bill. My relatives and friends had been laid off from US Steel. Their homes were being foreclosed on, they were standing in food bank lines and their cars were being repossessed. I don’t think they were worried about the church’s electric bill. They were already sitting in the dark at home. They didn’t have money for gas or a vehicle to get to church. A church is only as strong as the membership. I quit going to church so I could get additional hours at work and a second job to assist my family members.

Don’t assume people who do not participate in organized religion are “bad” and “immoral” people. Get off the pulpit and open your mind. God doesn’t judge – Why do you?

 

 

 

 

Slap a panty resumes

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My beautiful niece asked that I revamp her resume. She is a college student with new work experience. The resume she sent me was 4 pages long! It took approximately 30 minutes to delete 75% of the excruciating details into a one page, clean and tidy resume.

I was previously employed with a financial institution as an operations manager. Part of my responsibilities was to hire for all positions. Hundreds of resumes were received for all posted jobs. They came in the form of novels, perfumed paper, decorated with ribbon and sparkles and colorful meta tags. Obviously some of these formats would have been appropriate for the “Slap a Panty Boutique”, not a loan officer position. Reference lists had disconnected telephone numbers or people who could hardly remember the applicant. These would have been better served for the amnesia clinic. Including graphics and photos did not interest me. They hindered the process. I was expecting professional, to the point, information. I was not looking for glamor shots or cute bears. If I was advertising childhood daycare positions, maybe the singing elephants would gather the correct attention.

Times are tough and jobs are at a premium. The best presentation will be short, to the point and professional. We would sort them by appearance and volume first. The pile would be cut down to the one or two page resume, on decent paper with neutral ink color – black, brown, navy. The rest were archived. We were looking for the resume that matched the personality of the position. If a resume is 5 pages long it communicated to us that the applicant could not concisely convey information in a concise manner. If I wanted a “talker”, I would hire my mother. Save the QPA and specific college class lists for university positions. They like that stuff. Save the “greeting customers with a smile” lines. We all want happy, optimistic, charismatic individuals. This info is conveyed at the interview. All crying and somber people will be offered the appropriate counseling. Also, urgently important, do not name drop or tell us who you are related to by extended marriage or cousin-hood. Quite frankly, that lets me know you will be arriving with an entourage of importance and are unable to stand on your on credentials. Remember, even Franco Harris writes down that he is a professional athlete, instead of “Super Bowl Hero, Immaculate Reception, Pittsburgh Steeler, knows Dan Rooney”.

Clean, concise, professional resumes will get attention. The content is what matters. Oh, yea, save the metallic dollar sign cutouts that fall out of envelopes, all over my office floor, for the men’s club.

 

 

Christmas without a calendar

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Christmas should never be restricted to the month of December. We always hear the optimistic, always happy people who exclaim they have Christmas everyday. The premise and promise should be celebrated daily. There are those select folks who do celebrate Christmas without a calendar which include all of the accoutrements and joy to behold.

The first Halloween for our youngest son going door to door in our subdivision yielded an incredible surprise for me. He probably does not remember the event as vividly and clearly as I do. We approached a home decorated with sparkling twinkle lights and Santa figures in the yard. The woman answering the door was slightly emotional and made a huge fuss over Joe dressed in his Harley Davidson get-up. She then asked if I would like to bring him in to see their Christmas tree. I’m wondering why this woman would have a Christmas tree put up for Halloween. She seemed extremely put together and not the type to be over the edge. So, we entered her home into one of the most magnificent magical views of the joyous Christmas season. The tree was almost as high as the cathedral ceiling and dressed in a lit gold theme. The train was traveling around a village at the bottom with a horn blowing and holiday music was playing. The room even smelled like pine and holly. There were Christmas cookies displayed on beautiful plates and candy in extravagant jars. Every detail was accounted for.

My four-year old was mesmerized, enchanted and I later found out confused by the switch in holiday theme for the day. It took me a week to get him into the Halloween excitement with the explanations of dressing up and visiting the neighbors at night to receive a few pieces of candy. This woman, our neighbor had a son in the Army who was returning home from Iraq. He had been on the ground and fighting in the desert. Since he had missed Christmas with his family last year, our neighbor re-created the entire event for his homecoming. She cried when she hugged Joe goodbye.

This was the Halloween of 1987. My other son was ten years old. Little did I realize, he too would be involved in a war or conflict that never seems to end. They just give it different names for different reasons during all seasons. We too, kept our Christmas tree up for a January homecoming one year. Christmas shouldn’t have a calendar.