Holly Ann Fisher

For months, I have been meaning to post this e-mail. My husband sent it to me and some of his family members earlier this year while on a business trip to Japan. I enjoyed his observations of Japan and decided this would make a great “guest post.” I’m sure he was a sight to see in Japan—a thin, 6-foot-3-inch American.

MARCH 2, 2006—It’s hard to sum up two weeks of Japanese culture in one e-mail, but I’ll do the best I can. Despite speaking only about two words of the native language and having to eat with two sticks that can’t be used to skewer anything (it’s considered rude), I’ve been getting along just fine.

The Japanese are a great people whose dedication to doing things well is amazing. But more on that later. Here’s a recap of the past couple of weeks.

After my 14 ½-hour plane ride from Atlanta, I arrived in Tokyo surprisingly energetic and ready to catch my first glimpse of Japan. The ride over itself had been pretty exciting; we flew over the northern coast of Alaska, getting a great view of the Arctic Sea. We also passed over eastern Russia (Siberia maybe?)—lots of snow and ice, looked just like something off the Discovery Channel. I felt a little like Indiana Jones, Jacque Cousteau and Crocodile Hunter all rolled into one. I figure anyone who travels over 7,000 miles in one day over an arctic wasteland can call themselves an explorer, even if it was from a comfortable seat on a Boeing 777.

Tokyo’s Narita airport was busy. It was about 3 p.m. local time on Sunday when we landed. I had no trouble getting my bags, and friendly Japanese who spoke some English hustled me right through customs.

Apparently there’s no height restriction for entering the country, lucky me. I could certainly see things around me easily; I was a head taller than everyone else. These folks are short!

I had no trouble finding the shuttle bus terminal to buy my ticket for Haneda. To get to Misawa, my final destination, I had to switch airports. Once again, courteous, friendly Japanese hustled me through the line where I purchased my ticket, my first purchase using Japanese Yen. Then right outside to wait on my bus.

At this point you may have noticed I emphasize how friendly, courteous and efficient the Japanese are. That’s no exaggeration. There’s no tipping in Japan. But you would think these people were doing everything they could for you to earn a tip. I watched at bus stops along the sidewalk, each manned by two persons with bright LED signs showing the next bus arrival time and destination, were run with near military precision. People were lined up with their bags, buses zoomed in precisely on schedule and were promptly loaded by Japanese while the tickets were taken. Load your own bag on the bus? Heavens no, that would be rude. Before you could even think such a thing someone was there, taking your bags from you, tagging them, and loading them on the bus. These folks can hustle!

Finally on the 90 minute ride to Haneda, I caught a little nap on the bus. Tokyo was great and all, but I was tired.

I awoke not too long before we arrived at our hotel. I stepped off the bus and headed toward it, which was conveniently built right into the airport, a model of Japanese efficiency. As I walked into the lobby, a young Japanese woman took my bags, and I was greeted by a man in a suit before being herded to the front desk. A lady there took my information, pulled up my reservations and I paid with my card. I turned around to find the Japanese lady, not much bigger than my large suitcase, had loaded my bags and was ready to show me to my room. The man in the suit, possibly the manager, flashed me a big smile and tipped me a sharp bow as I walked past. This was service! Plus, only $80 a night.

Not having much of a layover, I grabbed something quick to eat and got some sleep before my early flight the next morning. I awoke feeling very refreshed, not at all jet lagged, lucky me, I guess. I did have some time to check out Japanese television, nothing too notable, although I did get to watch some of the Olympics in Japanese, which was pretty interesting. Much like us, they cover all the athletes during an event, but tend to focus on their country’s athletes a little more. I couldn’t understand anything, but it was still nice to see the Olympics. I guess that’s one thing all countries have in common.

I had a small commuter flight up to Misawa, and fortunately it was a fairly clear day, so I got some good pictures of Tokyo and a good look at the city.

The Japanese countryside was amazing, everything snow covered and icy. It looked like Torino from the air. I don’t think I’d find any Italian food down there though.

Landing in Misawa, the reality of my final destination began to sink in. I sat next to a nice Japanese man from Macon, Ga., on the flight from Atlanta. He spoke OK English, and he had told me Misawa was very “rural.” I took his word for it, figuring anybody from Macon could certainly define rural. He wasn’t exaggerating. For those of you hailing from South Carolina, think Moncks Corner. If you’re from Arkansas, think Alma, and if you’re from sunny San Angelo, think any town within 100 miles.

I don’t know what the Japanese equivalent of a redneck is, but you certainly might be one if you’re from Misawa. I thought to myself, “Oh well, from the big city to the little rural town, you wanted to see Japan, here you go.” Besides, if I guy from Arkansas was going to have any chance of surviving in a strange country like this, he might as well be in a place that’s pretty similar to home.

It was similar with the exception of two things. Obviously language being the first one, the other being snow! I’m not talking about one of those little dustings we get in Arkansas, or even some of those heavier snows I’ve experienced in Ohio at Christmas. I’m talking serious snow, piled higher than the cars on the sides of roads. Very cool for me. I’m sure if the locals could read my mind they’d think I’m crazy.

It was at the little airport, much like the one back home in Ft. Smith, that I ran into my first snag of the trip. Up until this point, I’d found navigating around Japan as easy if not easier than my best trip in the states. But despite forwarding my travel plans to the folks at the base well in advance and confirming before I left that someone would be there to pick me up, I found no one there waiting on me. I had to remind myself these were Navy guys I was visiting, not Air Force, so you could expect this kind of stuff, even if they are stationed on an Air Force Base. But for the moment, how in the world was I going to get over to the base? I figured a taxi, provided the natives had such a thing out here. I just hoped it was covered and not horse drawn. OK, I’m exaggerating, but it is rural Japan. I suddenly noticed a large sign in English saying wireless Internet was free in the airport. Of course, in Japan, even the rural areas would be wired. After all, isn’t this the land of technology? So I whipped out my laptop, donned my headset, and gave Holly a call on my voice over IP phone. Better add James Bond to that list above.

Despite being on the other side of the world, the call went through clear as a bell with no problems. We’re 14 hours ahead on this side of the world, so it was about 8 p.m. when I called. Holly was surprised of course, especially when I told her were I was calling from. After chatting with her, I did some quick e-mail and started looking for transportation to the base. Of course, this being an Air Force town, there was a nice Air Force bulletin board at the airport with local information, including the taxi company to call to get transportation to the base. Five minutes later there was a cab driver there to pick me up and whisk me over to the base. Once again, good old Japanese service.

Since arriving, I’ve managed to get into town several times for local cuisine. Not a lot to choose from, but there are some good places to get some Sushi or Ramen. I had Sashemi the first night, that’s Sushi without the rice (raw seafood for you non-sushi eaters). It was good, although, I’m sure it’s hard to screw up raw fish. Chopsticks haven’t been much of a problem, although eating rice with them is interesting. (Gotta get the bowl close to your face, it’s not rude here to do that.)

Later in the week we went to a Ramen house and had huge bowls of steaming hot Ramen. Very good! We also went to a noodle place that’s like a fast food restaurant, which was pretty tasty.

It was there I had one of my more humorous moments. They were playing music from a local radio station, lots of Japanese singing American songs in English. There I was, face buried in my bowl, when I hear “Come on Irene, Too Ra Ta Too Ra Ra.” I’m familiar with the song, but I thinks it’s “Eileen,” not “Irene.” Wait, Asian accent, L’s are R’s. Too funny! I’d love to see what they’d make of George Strait. “Amarillo by Morning” could be a challenge.

Anyway, so far my favorite restaurant has been the Viking. It’s a place with small grills in the tables. It’s buffet style, so you pick up meats that have been marinated and cook them on the grill. They also had sushi and soups. I had five plates, which elicited some dirty looks from the proprietors. Incidentally, I’m very happy to report no one has pointed at me and yelled “Godzilla!” yet. I must not me that tall after all.

I have an all day ski trip planned on Saturday. My first ever, should be interesting. Going by myself, the folks here on site with me now are old and crotchety and don’t want to leave the base. The first week here, a guy from my company named Matt was here so he and I went into town every night. Since he’s left it’s been considerably less exciting. Saturday’s trip should be fun though, if nothing else I’ll get to see more of the country.

All in all I’d have to say it’s been a great experience, despite there not being much to see here. The Japanese people never cease to amaze me. I haven’t seen one fat Japanese yet, nor have I had any kind of bad service. I think either would be a terrible embarrassment to them.

They are a people full of great pride and a friendly spirit. No wonder they always look so young and healthy. I think we could learn a lot from them.

–Clint

In less than a month after the For Sale sign went into the yard, our house has sold.

We received two offers over Memorial Day weekend. One from a very persistent real estate agent with clients who wanted us to pay their closing costs, buy a home warranty and give them our washer and dryer, lawn mower and curtains. We received another offer from someone who gave us full price for the house and wanted nothing more than a $400 home warranty. SOLD!

In the meantime, we also found a house we wanted (see photo above). It’s adorable from the outside but the interior needs some serious help. Turquoise carpet and stained vinyl in the kitchen are not very attractive–particularly when the carpet is patched with duct tape in one spot. The walls are painted hideous colors and whoever tried to paint got some of it on the ceiling. In the master bedroom, the owner must have been watching just a little too much HGTV and decided to try a sandstone effect on the walls. Lovely. It looks like someone dumped half of Folly Beach in a gallon of ugly battleship gray paint and went crazy.

BUT … the floor plan is terrific. It’s a spacious house with loads of potential. The backyard–which also needs a significant amount of work–is huge and perfect for our two dogs. Floor plans and lot sizes can’t be changed. Paint and flooring can.

Our initial offer (less than full price because of all the work needing done) was rejected. Our real estate agent went back to the owner the following week just to let him know we were still interested. We were able to come to a mutually agreeable price. I think we got a great deal. This house will be spectacular when we’re done and in a few years, we could sell it and make a decent profit.

Of course, there’s a snag. The owner of our new home in Mount Pleasant originally noted in the contract he would close July 19 but could close earlier with 21 days notice. At first that was fine because we hadn’t sold our house yet and wanted the extra time. Once we received a contract on our house we went back to him about closing earlier. The buyers of our house need to close June 30 and we have to be out at that time. Apparently he had lied about being able to close early. He then revealed he is getting married on June 24 and will be out of town for three weeks on a honeymoon.

We have offered $300 toward a storage facility (the guy’s ex-wife cleaned him out, so he barely has anything to move!) and we offered to close before the wedding but let him stay rent-free for a couple days after the wedding.

He won’t cooperate. So, it appears we will be homeless for two and half weeks. Not good. This means we will have to move our stuff to a storage facility and then move it to the new house. Moving once is bad enough – now we’re moving twice. Ugh.

So the real estate saga continues. Our hope is the owner of our new house will change his mind in the next day or two, but we’re not counting on it and have started thinking about arrangements for our period of homelessness. We do have a lot of cardboard boxes around the house these days, so I suppose that’s an option.

We’re actually thinking of driving to Arkansas to visit my in-laws for a week. When we return, we’ll have to find a hotel that allows pets. That’s tough to do, especially when you have 140 pounds of Labradors.

We’ll make it work … I’ll just keep thinking about how great our new house will be once we’ve moved in, renovated and settled …. Guess that will be sometime in December. Stay tuned.

The ink is barely dry on the marriage certificate and people start asking, “When are you going to have kids?”

Suddenly your decision to have children is everyone’s business. Deciding to have a child is a personal and private decision for a husband and a wife to thoroughly discuss and consider. They may opt to confide in a close friend or family member, but that’s their choice and strangers and acquaintances should keep their opinions to themselves.

I’ve been married almost six years, so, believe me, I’ve been asked plenty of times about whether babies are in my future. My husband and I try to be polite and say we haven’t decided yet, which is the truth. But often we’re met with disapproving looks as if there is something wrong with us because we don’t have a six pack of kids in tow.

I wish more people would give serious thought to having children. It’s a major responsibility that turns your life upside down. Just having two dogs can be tough — and I can lock them in their kennels during the day! Children require time, attention, money, unconditional love and plenty of sacrifice. Thousands are children are brought into this world every day to parents who never considered what they were doing. Why look down on people who want to be certain they are making the best choice?

When people ask about your baby plans, it is awkward. It’s also incredibly rude because they don’t know the circumstances and may have just hit a nerve. It’s tough to know how to respond. A thousand snarky comments run through your mind, but you try to be polite.

But now I have some great responses. A co-worker sent me these from an Ann Landers column posted on this Web site.

These are priceless and I plan to use them all at some point.

Dear Annie: I read the letter from “Childless in the East,” who asked you for a good response when people say, “When are you going to have kids?” My wife and I waited to have children. We shut up the insensitive clods by giving them an indignant look and replying, “I cannot begin to imagine how that would possibly interest you.” We both had good jobs and enjoyed traveling. We also saved and invested. We had children when we were ready, and by then, we could provide nicely for them and give them the quality of life they deserved. — George in Jacksonville, Fla.

Dear George: We were overwhelmed with suggested responses. Read on:

Pensacola, Fla.: Years ago, my daughter was asked when she would have kids. I suggested she reply indignantly, “We’d NEVER do that! We’re vegetarians.”

Redding, Calif.: A friend once asked, “When are you going to have a baby?” My husband replied, “Well, we keep kissing and kissing, and nothing happens.”

Jacksonville, Fla.: My best answer is, “When they come with a return policy.”

Chicago: My sister’s favorite response was, “On the third Thursday after the second blue moon of a year evenly divisible by seven.” People didn’t ask twice.

Wisconsin: Here’s mine: “If I wanted to hear the pitter-patter of little feet, I’d put shoes on my cat.” Works for me.

Spokane, Wash.: I tell people, “I don’t breed well in captivity.”

East Coast: My husband’s favorite answer is, “My wife and I prayed for 20 years for children, and then we found out that’s not how you do it.”

Indianapolis: I like this one: “I love kids. I had one last night with a glass of Chianti and fava beans.”

New York: “We used to have two, but we traded them in for a new car.”

East Coast: Tell them, “I can’t bear children,” then refuse to explain yourself.

Portsmouth, N.H.: When people ask, “When are you guys having kids?” just say: “I don’t know. What have you heard?”

SciFi Fan: “When are you going to have kids?” Answer: “You mean you can’t see them?”

Georgia: How’s this: “I don’t know. When are you going to have manners?”

New York: My husband would look dejected and say, “Well, you see, there was this accident at the factory . . . ” People would immediately apologize.

Michigan: I tell people, “Oh, I’ve had several children, but the state kept taking them away, so I quit.”

Hoboken, N.J.: “Well, Hubby’s certainly placing the orders.” That rattled them.

Freeport, Ill.: My husband finally told one persistent questioner, “We don’t know how. Can you come over and show us?” She never asked again.

North Ft. Myers, Fla.: We tell people we’re going to wait until we retire so our Social Security covers Viagra and cribs.

Nevada City, Calif.: I say, “When the world’s population decreases to a sustainable 3.5 billion and each person takes responsibility to reproduce only one child so we can all live healthy and wealthy, enriched, caring lives for all species.”

Salem, Ore.: I’m a man, and I recently solved that problem by saying, “Doug can’t have children.”

Overseas: I’ve been in the military 12 years and recently got married. I tell people, “If the Army wanted me to have kids, they would have issued me some.”

Montreal: I used to be one of those people who would ask couples when they were going to have children. One day, a friend quietly responded: “It’s not that we’re not trying, it’s just not happening. It’s painful to discuss.” I don’t ask anymore.

Why does the dental hygienist always ask if I have been flossing every day? Clearly she can see, as she picks tarter from between my teeth, I have not been flossing every day.

Why must she ask in that accusatory tone if I floss every day? (Do they teach that tone in dental hygienist school?) Now I feel guilty. For a split second, I think about saying, “Why, yes, I do floss every day.” But it’s no use — she can see with her tiny mirror and picky thingy I am not flossing on a daily basis. So, I respond with a: “Um, well, not EVERY day.”

And I leave the dentist’s office with a renewed resolve to floss every single day and maybe even twice a day. I’m sure my good intentions will last about two weeks. I’ll go back for a teeth cleaning in six months and the dental hygienist and I will find ourselves in the same situation: Have you been flossing every day?

“Um, well ….”

It’s tough selling your house while still living in it. Each morning, I must do the following things:

* Make the bed
* Stuff dog beds under bed
* Wipe off bathroom sink
* Put basket of lotions and soaps under sink so counter space looks ample
* Make sure nothing is on the kitchen counter
* Make sure the living room is tidy and couch and chair cushions are fluffed
* Make sure dog hair tumbleweeds aren’t rolling across the bathroom or kitchen floors
* Make sure blinds are open so rooms look sunny, bright and spacious
* Sweep screened-in back porch and make sure glass top patio table doesn’t look too dirty

The process is exhausting. I try to take care of most of these tasks in the evening, but still ….

I feel like putting a sign on the door: “Dear potential buyer: I’m doing the best I can to make this a fabulous show home, but let’s face it, two people and two dogs live here!”

I looked at myself carefully in the mirror this morning. Could I really be 30 years old? In my head, I swear I’m 22.

But in reality, I hit the big 3-0 today. I have mixed emotions about this milestone. I feel pretty accomplished for being 30 — I have a great husband, a successful career, wonderful friends, two great dogs, two college degrees, good health and a roof over my head. And, if all goes well, I’ll have an even nicer roof over my head soon (see previous posting).

And, at the same time, I feel sadness mixed with anticipation. I’m sad for the years lost and I’m sad over how quickly time seems to be passing by. If the first 30 years went by this quickly, imagine how fast the next 30 will go. Yet I’m eager to see what life has in store for me. If I could do this much in 30 years, imagine what the next 30 years will bring.

Thank you, God, for giving me 30 years on this great earth. Thank you for your many blessings and for the blessings I know are coming. Help me to enjoy each and every moment — not to fear the passage of time but to welcome each day, knowing it is an opportunity for greatness.

There is a “for sale” in our front yard.

For the last few months, Clint and I have talked about moving to Mount Pleasant on the other side of Charleston. It would put me much closer to my job. Plus, the area is nicer. One of the downsides is that the houses are more expensive, so we often tossed the idea around but didn’t think we could make it happen.

Our conversations took a more serious turn a few weeks ago and we decided to start looking — it’s free to see what’s available in your price range. We found a real estate agent and she’s been showing us houses. In an effort to catch the school’s-almost-out-so-it’s-time-to-move crowd, we decided to put our house up for sale contingent on our finding suitable housing.

It’s exciting and a little scary. Plus, this was our first house so I’ll be a little sad to leave it behind. But house shopping is fun and we’re hopeful we can find something we love soon.

Stay tuned …

I sometimes feel as if I have lost control of my life. It’s just this endless sea of chores, tasks and responsibilities. My weekdays are jammed with work activities. Then my evenings and weekends are full with organizing a regional journalism conference in Athens, Ga., and with teaching my class at the College of Charleston. And I’ve been doing a weekly Bible study that comes with homework. No matter how much I enjoy these activites, there is always so much to do.

Not to mention there is always a floor that needs sweeping, clothes that need washing, furniture that needs dusting and dogs that need bathing or walking. It’s truly exhausting.

So, this weekend I tried to take a little break. I took care of some of the more pressing tasks but managed to squeeze in some couch time. It was a much needed break and I think I might actually be able to start the week feeling slightly rested.

Slowly, I’m trying to take back control of my life.

This came to me from the land of e-mail forwards, which I normally lothe and rarely pass on. But, I found this one delightful and a perfect description of my two girls.

Dear Dogs and Cats,

The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn’t help because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.

For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years — canine or feline attendance is not mandatory.

The proper order is kiss me, THEN go smell the other dog or cat’s REAR. I cannot stress this enough!

To pacify you, my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door:

All Non-Pet Owners Who Visit & Like to Complain About Our Pets
1. They live here. You don’t.
2. If you don’t want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture. (That’s why they call it “fur”niture.)
3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.
4. To you, it’s an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn’t speak clearly.

Remember: Dogs and cats are better than kids because they:
1. Eat less
2. Don’t ask for money all the time
3. Are easier to train
4. Usually come when called
5. Never drive your car
6. Don’t hang out with drug-using friends
7. Don’t smoke or drink
8. Don’t worry about having to buy the latest fashions
9. Don’t wear your clothes
10. Don’t need a gazillion dollars for college, and
11. If they get pregnant, you can sell their children

American Express has been running a series of ads in magazines in which famous people answer some personal questions. It goes along with the company’s slogan “My life. My card.”

American Express wants to let consumers know it has a card for everyone’s life. I dare say the only credit card that would fit my life would be one that didn’t require me to pay back what I’d spent on credit.

But I found the ads clever and admit I paused to read the responses from people like Ellen DeGeneres and Kate Winslet.

So, I decided to answer the same questions here:

My name: Holly

Childhood ambition: fashion designer, beautician, mother of six children, being Miss America

Fondest memory: That’s tough. I can think of many but one that tops the list is seeing my husband get a little tear in his eye on our wedding day.

Soundtrack: Just about anything country or the peacefulness of the woods.

Retreat: Camping with my husband and dogs or my backporch in the springtime.

Wildest dream: Winning a Pulitzer Prize

Proudest moment: Graduating with my master’s degree

Biggest challenge: Cramming everything I want to do into one day; spending quality time with my God, myself, my family and friends

Alarm clock: is evil

Perfect day: Knowing there is absolutely nothing I HAVE to do

First job: Napoli’s Pizza

Indulgence: Shoes, purses

Last purchase: Shoes, iPod armband, Bible

Favorite movie: Dead Poet’s Society, Notting Hill, When Harry Met Sally

Inspiration: the people who love me

My life: is chaotic, loving, insane, blessed

My card: is Visa (probably not the response American Express was going for)

You know you’re in for a tough week, when you get to work Monday morning and start thinking: “Is it Friday yet?”

I obviously didn’t get enough sleep over the weekend. And it was rainy today — a classic case of “the Mondays.”

On Jan. 10, I embarked on an entirely new profession–college professor. I’m teaching a course at the College of Charleston as an adjunct faculty member. My course is Comm 230 – Writing for the Mass Media. It’s an introductory level course for students interested in pursuing careers in mass media (print, broadcast or online journalism as well as public relations).

I spent quite a bit of time on the syllabus, determining the assignments, projects and how to test students on news writing and the AP Stylebook. The first day I was incredibly nervous and hoped the students wouldn’t be able to smell my fear. I teach two mornings a week and each class has been a little easier. I know most of the students by first name and am starting to see who the more serious students are.

I’m only about 10 years older than most of the students, but they refer to me as “Professor Fisher” and sometimes “M’am,” which makes me feel ancient. Despite my lofty title, I can’t help but feel inadequate. Elementary and high school teachers receive years of specialized training. Yet, I graduate with a master’s degree and — presto — I’m ready to teach a college-level course.

So I’m drawing on my own college experiences and trying to be the kind of professor I liked: interesting, tough, fair. I’m trying to make my lectures engaging, inserting some anecdotes from my own work experience and encouraging class discussion. And I’ve made the coursework challenging with the hope my students will get a realistic taste of journalism.

I guess I’ll see if my formula worked when students complete course evaluations at the end of the semester. In the meantime, I’ll just enjoy my new status as “professor.”

The first couple weeks of January are just so … well, “blah.” The excitement and energy of Christmas has passed. The living room looks empty and sad without the Christmas tree and decorations. Vacations are over. It’s back to the grind with a whole year staring us in the face.

Maybe I’m being a little melodramatic, but I always find the first days of the new year a little depressing. I guess it’s just tough to get back into the swing of things. On Monday, it took all my energy to drag myself out of bed. I hadn’t worked a Monday — or a full, five-day week — in three weeks. Oh, 5:30 a.m. came so early.

I’m halfway through the work week and starting to feel a little more normal. I’m sure by the end of next week, I’ll be juggling a busy schedule and cruising right along. But for the moment, I’m mourning the passing of another year, another holiday season.

Although, the retailers are already stocking Valentine’s Day and Easter candy, so I’m sure Christmas will be here again before I know it.

Ever since I was a small child I have been fascinated by the Christmas tree. As soon as it was decorated, I wanted to turn off all the lights and just sit on the couch and gaze lovingly at the tree.

To this day, I still turn off all the lights and sit on the couch to admire the tree. In fact, I’m doing just that as I type this. Probably on Saturday, I’ll take down the Christmas decorations, so I’m trying to squeeze in the last little bit of face time with the tree.

It’s hard to explain why I find the tree so mesmerizing and why it makes me feel happy and sad at the same time. Christmas trees are symbols of the past, the present and the future. Decorated with a lifetime of memories, they are treasures of the past. Each ornament has a story, a history, a special meaning. As a child, I had my favorite Tweety Bird ornament and I loved pulling out the box filled with fragile Christmas bulbs that had belonged to my great-grandmother.

The ornaments on my tree these days are fairly new; most of them collected since I married five years ago. But I still enjoy thinking about what each one represents. I even started a new tradition of buying a Hallmark ornament that sort of sums up the major event of the year.

In its ornaments and decorations–and by extension, the memories they represent–the Christmas tree is like a scrapbook. Yet, at the same time, the tree represents the present, a celebration of the current holiday season and the new memories that are made.

For me, the Christmas tree pulls my thoughts ahead to future holidays. I wonder what will happen in the coming year. Will life be radically different next Christmas? Will I be missing any loved ones? Will I be living in the same house? In the same state?

Maybe that’s why I like to spend time looking at the tree–it’s an opportunity to capture the moment, to freeze time like a snapshot. For that moment, when it’s just me and tree, all is right and good and peaceful in my world.

And that’s a memory worth repeating each year.

Yesterday a girlfriend and I were discussing what Christmas would be like in a world of men. It seems obvious to me many of the Christmas traditions we cherish and hold dear would be gone because there would be no women to carry them on from year to year.

* Men would give each other whatever gift they could find at the 7-Eleven on Christmas Eve. I can just hear them now:
–Man 1: Hey, man, I bought you this Snickers bar and pine-scented air freshener for your truck.
–Man 2: Thanks, dude, and here’s your cup of stale coffee and a refrigerator magnet.

* The gifts definitely would not be wrapped.

* No Christmas cards would be sent.

* No decorations would be found anywhere. (Men might say they contribute to the decorating by putting up lights on the outside of the house, but they only put up those lights because women tell them to.)

* No cookies would be decorated, no pies would be made, no breads would be baked and no candies would grace the Christmas table.

* No office parties, Christmas pageants or gift exchanges would be organized.

(Note to my husband: I write this in jest, honey, none of these apply to you.)