I called it my Protestant tree because we bought it at the Episcopal church instead of at the Knights of Columbus and because a few hours after I'd decorated it, with strung popcorn and cranberries and hand rolled-gingerbread men and frosted cookie stars and angels, the tree fell, crashing to the floor.

I wailed and moaned because never before had I gone to such effort for a tree. Never before had I strung cranberries or popcorn, or even sugar cookies. The effort was entirely new.

I called it my Protestant tree because we bought it at the Episcopal church instead of at the Knights of Columbus and because a few hours after I'd decorated it, with strung popcorn and cranberries and hand rolled-gingerbread men and frosted cookie stars and angels, the tree fell, crashing to the floor.

I wailed and moaned because never before had I gone to such effort for a tree. Never before had I strung cranberries or popcorn, or even sugar cookies. The effort was entirely new…

t's all so trivial. I recognize this. It doesn't matter that Christmas is a week away and I have so little done. No gifts for my son, my daughters, my husband. Not a present under the tree. No cookies baked. Only a handful of cards written.

Who cares. Is everyone healthy? Yes. Is everyone going to be home for Christmas? Yes. Do we have a roof over our heads, heat, lights, running water, a telephone and cars that start in the morning? Yes, yes, yes, yes!

Then why am I feeling great waves of get-me-a-paper-bag-I-can't-brea