The Christmas Tree Catastrophe: Lydia’s Meltdown and Gran’s Grace

Gather around for a holiday tale that’s equal parts heartwarming and jaw-dropping—a classic family Christmas featuring generosity, drama, greed, and a meltdown of epic proportions. The star? Stig’s cousin Lydia, whose bratty antics made her infamous and whose actions at this Christmas gathering earned her a permanent spot in family folklore.

But before we dive in, let me introduce one key ingredient in this recipe for chaos: Barb. Stig’s mother, Barb, was the kind of person who could find the cloud in any silver lining. Known for her greed and knack for rubbing everyone the wrong way, Barb was—how do I put this delicately?—universally disliked. Yet, for reasons no one could fathom, Lydia idolized her. It’s like worshipping a porcupine for being pointy. Lydia saw Barb as a figure to emulate, which perhaps explains why her own behavior had a tendency to make people grit their teeth.

Let’s meet the rest of the cast:
Gran: The ultimate Christmas hostess, whose warmth and generosity could light up even the gloomiest holiday. I loved her.
Stig: My best bud and a natural-born hustler with a knack for turning anything into profit and drama followed him around yeilding memorable stories.
Lydia: Barb’s pint-sized protégé, a princess of entitlement who attempts to make every moment all about her.
Jackie: Stig's Uncle and Lydia’s dad, a sweet and caring man when not overshadowed by his daughter’s theatrics.

The year was either 1983 or 1984 (the exact date lost in time thanks to some misplaced photo albums), and the setting was Gran’s trailer park rec room, transformed into a winter wonderland of lights, food, and presents. Gran had poured her heart into preparing for this Christmas, as she always did. Her holiday spirit was unmatched—she even went out of her way to ensure that everyone, no matter how distant or difficult, had a thoughtful gift to unwrap. And yes, that included Lydia.

Stig, ever the entrepreneurial teen, had been Gran’s trusty sidekick on her pre-Christmas shopping spree. The dynamic duo hit Pensacola’s smaller of the two malls at the time, Cordova Mall, where Gran meticulously checked off her gift list. Jackie had suggested Lydia loves Legos, so Gran headed to KB Toys to find something she’d love. Meanwhile, Stig, true to his enterprising nature, made a beeline for the Sound Shop to scout records for his latest side hustle—bootlegging cassettes using the stereo he acquired and repaired after the hamster invasion of his parents house, and Gran’s Tandy computer and her dot matrix printer to create custom J-cards. (Yes, Stig was ahead of his time in the art of the hustle.)
Gran, not knowing the difference of the different types of Lego's, snagged a couple of Lego sets for Lydia, thinking they’d be perfect, and treated Stig to some Atari games “from Santa.” Their shopping spree continued in Milton with stops at Nixon’s for Aunt Kelly’s outfit, Moores for a Christmas outfit for Gran herself, and K-Mart for wrapping paper and bows. The finishing touch? Groceries from Piggly Wiggly to complete Gran’s famous holiday feast.

The rec room buzzed with laughter and chatter as family and friends gathered for the big Christmas Eve event. Lydia arrived dressed to the nines, looking every bit like a princess who expected the world to bow at her feet. She wasted no time staking her claim to the prime spot by the Christmas tree, ensuring she’d be the center of attention and the first to receive her gifts.

Gran, glowing with holiday joy, began passing out gifts. Before Gran finished passing out everyone's gifts Lydia had already tore into her packages with the enthusiasm of a sugar-fueled child. But then—disaster. All eyes turned to Lydia, who had dramatically toppled the Christmas tree in her tantrum. Standing amid the wreckage with her arms folded and foot tapping, she looked like an 8-year-old “Karen” in the making. Her face twisted in outrage as she shrieked, “DUPLO IS NOT LEGO! I’m almost NINE, NOT THREE!”

The room fell silent. 

Gran, ever the peacemaker, gently assured her, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I kept the receipt. Your daddy can take yoy back to the toy store after Christmas to exchange them.”

But Lydia wasn’t placated. “What am I supposed to do until then? The stores won’t open until the day after tomorrow!” she wailed, her voice echoing through the room. Jackie, mortified, quickly apologized to everyone, collected their plates of leftovers Gran had put together for them as well as their gifts, and ushered Lydia out the door.

Gran, visibly hurt but ever gracious, held back tears and carried on with the festivities. The rest of the family rallied around her, their admiration for her unshakable kindness only growing stronger.
When Gran and Stig told me this story years ago, it struck a chord. Why? Because it reminded me of a certain someone in my own family who has always thought of herself as the queen of the clan. Now, don’t get me wrong—I love my family dearly, but much like Stig, I’ll tell you straight: there’s only one queen in this family (unless, of course, there are a few hiding in the closet). And spoiler alert? That queen is me.

As for Lydia? Her meltdown, much like those of her idol Barb, has become the stuff of family legend—a cautionary tale about entitlement, generosity, and the strength of Gran’s unshakable holiday spirit.
If this story resonated with you—maybe you’ve got your own “Lydia,” “Gran,” or “Stig” in your family—I’d love to hear about it in the comments! And if Gran’s warmth and generosity brought a little holiday cheer to your day, don’t let me stop you from sharing a little love of your own. 🎄✨

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Memories of the Past: Christmas Tree Farms & Finding the Perfect Christmas Tree

Thanksgiving was a special time for my family, not only because of my mom's delicious Thanksgiving meal and her wonderful treats but also because it marked the beginning of our search for the perfect Christmas tree. My dad was adamant about having a real tree, detesting the thought of an artificial one. My grandmother had a silver aluminum tree with a color wheel that I was fascinated with, but my dad believed that the smell, look, and feel of a real tree could never be replicated. Of course, he never saw the two stunning artificial trees I own now, but artificial trees back then weren't made like they are today.

Our Thanksgiving dinner was typically served around lunchtime, and by dinner, we were making plates from the massive amount of leftovers. After our first "feeding," we would hang out watching TV for an hour or so before getting ready to head out to a Christmas tree farm. In Mobile, Alabama, my dad's favorite Christmas tree farm was Ramsey Farms in Grand Bay, though we sometimes ventured to one on Repoll Road. When we moved to Florida, Whispering Pines became our regular tree farm.

At the farm, my dad would park the car, grab a saw from an employee, and we would head out to the fields. We all had different ideas of the perfect tree. My sister liked them perfectly shaped, I preferred them tall, and my mom wanted them full enough to hold all our ornaments. Initially, I was enthusiastic about the selection process, but as time wore on, the temperature dropped, and the winds picked up, I became less interested. Eventually, I would have agreed to a tumbleweed. My dad's decision was final once he checked the base of the tree trunk to ensure it would fit into our stand and be easily watered. He would then saw the tree down himself because, in his words, why pay someone else to do it?

Tree farms provided more than just trees; they offered a full holiday experience. Unlike the pre-cut trees sold in parking lots, which often looked out of place, tree farms made the experience special. Sometimes Santa and Mrs. Claus were there, and one year, the farm had actual deer and animals associated with Nativity scenes, like donkeys and sheep. Every tree farm had crafts, wreaths, and Christmas-scented items for sale. Christmas-related food and beverages, such as cookies, sweets, apple cider, and my favorite, hot chocolate, were also readily available. My mom would usually walk with my sister and I to the refreshment stand to buy hot chocolate for the three of us while my dad cut down the tree.

Once we got our tree home, my dad would drill a hole into the middle of the trunk before putting it in the tree stand and setting it up in the living room. My favorite part of Christmas trees was always the lights. My parents had strands of mini colored lights with reflectors for years before switching to clear lights when I was in the 8th grade. I much preferred the colored lights, often laying on the floor with my head under the tree, squinting at the blue lights, which I thought were the prettiest. I didn't care if we had ornaments; the lights were enough for me. We would spend a few hours decorating the tree, and my mom would put the finishing touches on it after my sister and I went to bed.

I can't say we ever had an ugly Christmas tree, though a couple shed quickly and others had bare spots that went unnoticed until we set it up. My parents would turn the tree so the bare spot wouldn't be visible. Since leaving home, I've continued the live tree tradition for many years, even buying one for my friend Erik's apartment in New York when I was 16. In the early 2000s, Terry and I found a 9-foot artificial tree that looked as if it had been grown and cut rather than assembled in a factory. We used it for many years until I found a shorter pre-lit tree under the Martha Stewart brand that could be assembled in less than 10 minutes.

Terry and I used to decorate for Christmas on Thanksgiving, but over the years, our decoration schedule shifted earlier and earlier, usually a week or two before Thanksgiving. This allowed us to relax and enjoy Thanksgiving without stressing over decorations. The tradition of finding and decorating the perfect Christmas tree remains a cherished memory, full of warmth, love, and holiday spirit.