Despite the downturn, we should not forgo the festive tradition of buying and decorating a Christmas tree, writes Orna Mulcahy
THE LADIES who lunch are battling their way bravely through the recession. Some I know are meeting today in Patrick Guilbaud's to discuss the credit crunch. They'll order glasses of house water and three-centimetre medallions of perfectly safe meat from the lunch menu - no straying into the lobster-infested waters of the a la carte is allowed.
The days when they could order what they pleased and feel fairly sure that a captain of industry across the room would send over a bottle of champagne, or even pick up the entire lunch tab are over but one must keep going, even under the trying circumstances of making do with last year's coat and handbag.
Conversation, much of it in discreet whispers, will revolve around the loss of wealth by some of their closest friends. Or the nightmare of running charity events in the current climate when the sensible money is going quietly to the St Vincent De Paul.
Fundraising for pet causes is under severe pressure and the dream auction is dying a death as alpha males in tuxedos can no longer be relied on to fork out €20,000 for a four-ball at the K Club, even if Tiger Woods is involved. Framed rugby jerseys are piling up unsold, and as for a celebrity chef to come to your home to make dinner, well who needs the pressure of that?
All will have heard from very reliable sources that if things seem bad now, just wait until January! Most of these ladies are so disheartened by the situation that they've decided to Christmas abroad this year.
Which doesn't for a moment mean that they are not doing Christmas. To a woman, they have their trees up and blazing already. By the time they return in early January, the €15-an-hour elves will have carted it off for recycling and packed away the decorations. The country may be collapsing, but one can still afford a beautiful tree.
At the other end of the spending scale, Tesco is doing a brisk trade in mini potted Christmas trees. My mother has bought one of these, not with the intention of planting it and digging it up again next year, but to signal the end of an era to her grown-up children. No more big trees. She may have the most magnificent decorations this side of Knightsbridge, but this year they are not coming out, and no, we can't divvy them up either. They'll be in her will.
I call my aunt in Vermont for reassurance. Yes, she is full steam ahead for Christmas, ready to put up what must be her 40th tree. When you have an Austrian physicist for a husband it is somehow easier to organise a perfect specimen.
For decades, my uncle has been in charge of choosing their tree and we in Ireland could only imagine the effort that went into the selection, taking symmetry, density and longevity into consideration together with room size and ceiling height. It's always a Fraser Fir because they are the bushiest and the best, but of the hundred of thousands that grow around where they live, how do they always find the best one?
We imagined a long trudge through the forest in the snow, the whipping out of a measuring tape, or, who knows, perhaps a fine-gauge instrument to measure a tree's perfect triangularity. Was there a special hatchet involved in the cutting down of the tree, an Austrian blade that would give a perfectly smooth surface to the base? Was it dragged home through the trees on a sled?
Sometimes, we heard slight adjustments had to be made as the tree was being hoisted up, a half inch to come off here, or three-quarters of an inch there. In extreme situations, a branch from one side might have to be grafted on to another side and camouflaged accordingly. On one occasion the spine of the tree turned out to be crooked and it was thrown out immediately. The spaces between the branches had to be just such a distance to accommodate the ornaments, which, reports reached us, lived in their original boxes with cardboard partitions and tissue intact. A mix of limited-edition silver decorations from the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art and crystal from Waterford and Swarovski; not one hangs from a loop of old darning wool.
Mathematical equations were employed to space the lights just so, with no big gaps at the back. A perfect star would be placed on top, rather than something made from toilet roll cardboard and tissue. The tree skirt is designed on the lines of a Spanish cardinal's alb.
She cheerfully admits it takes her five hours to pack everything away in the new year, but no matter, the tree is a thing of beauty. She loves it, even if her grown-up children complain that the white and silver theme is repetitive. She does it, not for them, and not for show, but for herself. The world may be falling asunder, but the tree will be raised this year as usual. Now that is the Christmas spirit!