Our tradition has always been to cut down a Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving.
But this year Netflix premiered Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life on our annual Christmas tree day.
So instead of stepping directly from Thanksgiving into Christmas, we straddled the threshold; instead of bundling up and heading to the tree farm, we stayed in our pjs and parked ourselves on the sofa to marathon watch all four 90 minute episodes.
When I say “we” I mean my daughter and me. Not the hub.
Six solid hours of Gilmore Girls with a brief intermission to walk the friends.
It was perfect.
Gilmore Girls was the weekly mother/daughter bonding date that took us exactly through my daughter’s adolescence. It began airing when she was in sixth grade and it ended just as she was graduating.
The show kind of reminded me of us – except Lorelai had her daughter at 16 and I had mine at 30. Lorelai gave birth out of wedlock, I gave birth in wedlock. Lorelai was hip and cute, I was not hip and only kinda’ cute.
But, Rory was smart and adorable and my daughter was smart and adorable.
It was just the two of them and they were close.
It was just the two of us for ten years and we were close.
When the reunion series was announced last summer, we started counting the days until we’d all be together again.
And it was perfect.
And then this morning, one day behind schedule, we drove an hour to Nicholas Tree Farm and loaded ourselves into a wagon.
In search of the perfect tree.
“Hey you guys,” I called them over, “how about this one? It’s nice and straight, and there is plenty of room between the branches for ornaments.”
We had a winner.
The blade was sharp, the trunk was slender and the hub had it felled in record time.
Waiting outside for the return wagon.
Waiting in the warming shack.
Here it comes.
Loaded back up with the loot.
Shake, bundle and roll.
Then off to lunch.