Yesterday morning began with trips down to the basement, scratching my head, and looking for boxes of Christmas decorations, which apparently, would be much easier to find if I just listened to my wife when putting things away.

The tree stand was to the right side of the room and the clear boxes of ornaments and tinsel was on the left. The wife brought up the Christmas stockings and the Garlands. We found the white icicle lights that hang in our windows; we found the Santa decorations that go in the bathroom and on the other shelves throughout the house. We found the small white Christmas tree that stands in my daughter’s bedroom window; we found all of the little figurines that we place around the white tree in our own version of a miniature, winter wonderland.

Then, of course, out comes the white Menorah with electric blue lights. This decoration is out of respect for the religion I was raised with. These decorations sit on one of the shelves in my daughter’s room, along with cottony-white pillows of fake snow, blue and red Dreidel lights that string above her bed (A Dreidel is that four-sided top that we spin around on the floor) and next to the white Menorah, which stands on puffs of pretend snow on the shelf next to her bed, there is a small white snowman with tiny lights that shine inside of its crystal-like belly. Its eyes and a mouth made of coal; it has twig arms and a pointy orange carrot for a nose.

We cleared the shelving and the cabinets in the living room. We moved the necessary furniture to accommodate the Christmas tree—which is not always an easy setup. The tree stands on occupied real estate. By occupied real estate, I mean this is where my bird lives for the other 49 weeks of the year.

Oscar the Bird and his cage move from one side of the room to the other. His move is only five or six paces away from his usual spot, but he doesn’t like this. He Squawks and tries to snap at my fingers as I roll his cage to its temporary position.

Eventually, he calms down. I give him a treat or something to sink his large beak into, and with some hesitation, Oscar usually accepts the trade.

We buy our Christmas tree in the parking lot across from the East Meadow Fire Department on East Meadow Avenue. Each year, the firemen and women sell trees and wreaths to raise money for the firehouse. I feel it is my obligation to buy our tree and wreath from them. I feel it is my responsibility as a member of the community to thank them for their service while intentionally overpaying for an underpriced tree.

The tree is good. It smells from pine needles and the color is truly green and vibrant. I learned my lesson, so this year I made sure not to buy a tree that was too big for my home. This year’s tree is not too big or small. It is not too fat or too thin. This tree is just right.

After the normal frustration that comes with the beginning stages of preparing the house; the tree went into its stand, and I began to ravel the branches with green wires that hold clear lights. I made several passes around, working from the inside out, and weaving the string of lights around until the soft lighting warmed the tree with a holiday spirit.

Slowly, the house transformed into the Christmas spirit. The wreath was placed on the front door and the stockings were hung on the banister of our staircase. Everyone has their own stocking—even Roxxy the Dog who passed away.

We put on the movie, “Elf,” because it is a seasonal favorite in my house. My wife and I continued to decorate. My daughter helped, and occasionally, the two of them would shout out their favorite quotes from their favorite holiday movie.

As night fell, the decorating was nearly complete. The heartwarming lights gleamed as we placed the star on top of the Christmas tree. To complete it, my daughter placed the silver tinsel around the branches. One by one, she carefully hung the ornaments as the dogs sat nearby and watched us change the room into something magnificent.

We were all tired by the end of the night. We went to bed with Christmas lights still gleaming. The house was warm and all was well.

At last, the Holiday Season has begun . . .

Written by Ben Kimmel, The Written Addiction www.thewrittenaddiction.com