Family Christmas Trees, Near and Far

Courtesy of mom and dad, we all have these Vermont Snowflake ornaments — a taste of New England winters and a family favorite!

It used to be that I was Commander in Chief when it came to decorating the Christmas tree. Even after I left for college, my family would wait to decorate the Christmas tree for when I returned home — 1) because it was tradition and 2) for fear that I would hurt anyone who deigned to decorate without me.

But now that we all live across the country and have homes and Christmas trees of our own, the times they are a' changin'. We've been forced (somewhat reticently, on my part) to adjust to life and Christmas preparations (which to me are almost the same thing) on our own.

Of course, The Tree will always be the one at home in Topsham, Maine — and I doubt, no matter how old or far-flung we become, that will ever change. So in honor of London family traditions near and far, here's a little photo tour of our Christmas trees from Maine to Colorado to New York City!

In Colorado, a lodge pole pine from the national park makes the perfect tanenbaum (and Hobbes helps to pick it out!)

Plenty of space between the branches for ornaments (and presents!)

A tree from the stand on the corner makes an NYC apartment cozy and bright.

...and a much bigger tree glitters up the street in Washington Square Park!

In Camden, Maine (one of our family's favorite seaside spots) a tree sets sail from a lofty mast.

At home in Topsham, Maine: The Tree, and The Pup!

Across a Wire

I emailed my cousin Rebecca the other day to check in and see how she was doing, and was amazed that right as I sent my message, a response from her popped up in my inbox. I opened it, thoroughly impressed by her attention and obvious speed-typing prowess…only to see that her email actually predated mine by about four minutes.

Meaning that she had sent it while I was still in draft mode.

Meaning that we had just emailed each other at exactly the same time.

This would be weird enough if we were sitting in the same office, or even lived in the same state. But Rebecca isn’t even on the same continent as I am.

She’s currently studying abroad. In Sweden.

Let’s ignore for a moment the fact that Rebecca and I are essentially the same person. Four years my junior, she goes to Colby, drives my old car, wears my old clothes, and spent this past summer living in my old room in my parents’ house (are we seeing a pattern, here?). Again, ignore the fact that she is more bubbly, brilliant, and blond than I am. The truth is, for my family (or, “the London clan,” a term of endearment that I’m sure was once self-described but now is basically a pronoun) this exchange isn’t weird at all.

Me and Rebecca being...me and Rebecca

Nearly every time I call home my mom answers it with “your ears must be burning,” Mainer-speak for “we were just talking about you, but all good things, I promise.” Sometimes I take out my phone to call her only to find it vibrating in my hand with her name on the screen.

There was a time when we were all in Maine, the whole clan, with no one farther away than a two-hour drive (and that’s Sugarloaf, our second home anyway). Calling at all was almost frivolous; we’d just drive over and “take off our coats, stay awhile” (also Mainer-speak, for making yourself comfortable). 

But as we’ve grown up (four of the eight grandchildren are now out of college, the rest in it or close behind), some of us have moved away, and the others are constantly traveling (including two sets of grandparents who “snowbird” in Florida). Still, we find a way to keep in touch with check-in calls, Facebook messages, and (when we can get it) time at home to visit.

Family news is telegraphed this way, across states and even continents. A recent call home to my dad disclosed that my uncle was at the house on his way to the airport to visit my cousin in Sweden. This was followed by a call to my aunt, who told me what day she would be home at Christmas and asked how my mom’s road race was earlier that morning. Which turned into a call with my mom, telling me she was just arriving home from a road race (yep, already knew that) and that she was pulling into the driveway and my uncle’s car was there (yep, knew that too) and had I heard that he was going to Sweden to visit Rebecca?

“Yep, mum, I heard.” I knew.

I always know.

The Maine Event

A few weeks ago, I traveled back to the homeland for the wedding of two dear friends. I went to high school with both of them, and also college with the groom, and now one of them teaches at the same high school that we all graduated from. So the event was a true homecoming — family and friends from childhood, high school, and college were all in attendance. It was a big day for the happy couple, for obvious reasons — but seeing so many familiar faces was a cause for celebration for me as well.

Allow me to elaborate. Chris and Courtney have been together for 10 years — yep, you read that correctly, a decade — meaning that for most of the time I’ve known them, they’ve been a couple. Chris was one of my brother Ian’s best friends growing up, and they both ended up at Colby College, too. I followed them two years later. Courtney went to Bowdoin College (we try not to hold that against her) and she and Chris burned up the turnpike to maintain their relationship long-distance. During this same time, while I was a little baby freshman at Colby, I met a wonderful boy named Ben…who, as it turns out, was friends with Chris, too.

…And so, six years later, that’s how I found myself getting ready for Chris and Courtney’s wedding, in the same bathroom where I got ready for my high school prom, while my brother Ian and boyfriend Ben waited downstairs. Talk about a (wonderful) collision of different worlds.

Me and my prom, er, wedding date

The ceremony was held at the First Parish Church in Portland, and was truly “Chris and Courtney” from start to finish. The bride and groom descended into the church from opposite staircases, met in the middle, and then walked each other down the aisle. They also read their own vows, inspired by Dr. Seuss ("I will love you if you're poor or rich, I will love you if you're in a ditch..."). One of Courtney's teaching colleagues – and also my high school social studies teacher – officiated the ceremony. Every time I turned around in my pew, I saw another familiar face: neighbors from my childhood block, my second-grade teacher, friends from high school that I hadn’t seen since graduation. As we watched Chris and Courtney say “I do,” I felt nested in a little cradle of family.

Camp Colby strikes again!

After taking the obligatory Colby picture outside the church (okay, fine, there was a Bowdoin one, too...but we far overwhelmed, I mean, outnumbered the other wedding guests) we headed to the ferry to take us to Peaks Island for the reception. It was a beautiful ride and gave me the chance to look back on the mainland where I grew up. The Maine coast is even more breathtaking from the water! 

We're related.

Despite a few minor setbacks (the caterer and DJ both missed the ferry and came two hours late...nothing cold beer and an iPod can’t fix!) the party got underway and was "Maine" through and through. Inscribed shells told the guests where to sit and dinner was a fancified lobster bake, complete with shell-shaped whoopee pies for dessert. We even lucked out with a gorgeous Maine sunset over the water.

Mmm...lobstah

Over the course of the evening, I caught up with friends and family that I hadn’t seen in years (including an hour-long heart-to-heart with Janet Galle, my favorite teacher of all time, and the reason I became an English major), many of whom now live all over the country. Which got me thinking: was it a coincidence that all of these people came together in…Maine, of all places? Sure, weddings typically do bring people together from all over the place, but for one person to have every stage of their lives represented at one party on one island – wasn’t that more than a coincidence?

I’d like to think so. After all, that's what being from a Maine community is all about: maintaining ties, remembering your roots, and rallying together in good times and bad. So as we raised our glasses to Chris and Courtney, I offered a quiet little toast of my own in my head: to the wonderful Maine community that I'm from, both at home and away, gathered that night in celebration on a small patch of land in the Atlantic.