Wench Pat here:
My contribution to our Christmas-lite blog concerns the Christmas tree. “Everyone” knows that Christmas trees originated in Germany and became popular in Victorian times, but of course, I couldn’t address the topic without taking a peek at the history. I won’t tell you all the fun facts I learned, but here’s a great site to get you started: http://www.christmasarchives.com/trees.html
I’m fascinated that the original tinsel was actually made of real silver and tin until as late as the middle of the 20th century. None of that flinging of hands full of flimsy tissue into the tree! 
So, ha! All you flingers of tinsel, you’re in the wrong! Tinsel was meant to be delicately hung one strand at a time.
Obviously, I have at least one hang-up about the appropriate decoration of a Christmas tree. Most of my family are flingers of tinsel (and wrapping paper and occasionally of ornaments). But my husband and I prefer the meticulous placement of tree and ornaments and other decoration, one piece at a time, moving them about until perfection is attained. Or we did, anyway.
This year, we don’t even have a tree. It took decades to degenerate to this state, but the dissolution 
was evident from the start. First, our aesthetic taste insisted that Scotch pines be the only type of tree illuminating our home. Since our first years of marriage were spent in college and army, we barely had the money for a pine branch much less a tree. And if we bought a tree, we had no ornaments except cast offs from our families. But somehow, we always managed a fat pine, even if it was short. And the tinsel was meticulously hung on branch ends only.
As we had children and more income and moved around, we discovered the benefits of Frasier firs over Scotch pine. But little hands couldn’t manage meticulous tinsel placement, nor were expensive ornaments practical around toddlers and pets. So we began a tradition of making our own ornaments, painting cut-out wood elves and Santas, molding plaster into reindeers and candy canes, and decorating it all with glue and glitter. (too bad glitter glue sticks weren’t available then!) This was so much fun that everyone had their own tiny tree to decorate for their bedrooms, as well as the main tree.
And of course, the trees grew taller along with the taller ceilings of our new homes. By the time the kids were teenagers, we were in a house that begged for 12-foot trees that had to be special ordered from Canada. Numerous strings of lights were required, and it could take days to hang all the ornaments. 
Have you ever tried dragging a dead 12-foot fir from the house on New Years’ Day? We would still be vacuuming needles and tinsel a year later. That’s when tinsel first lost its glitter. We bought tinsel garlands and called it done.
Then came the year when the kids had flown the coop. By then, we’d moved to another state and had downsized the house, although we still had tall ceilings. Since we were traveling to family instead of having family at home, we downsized the tree as well. And with no toddlers any longer, the tree became a decoration for our parties, and I indulged my penchant for pretty glass by buying matching ornaments.
Then came the year when we had no parties scheduled because we were traveling so much. That was the year we didn’t have the energy to put up lights much less tinsel. And—horror of horrors—we indulged in our first artificial tree with lights already attached. I’d been saying for years decorating would be far 
easier if trees could come with lights, and someone heard my plea.
We’ve moved again. We’re still traveling at Christmas. And these days, our only greenery is on the outside of the house. But it’s a lovely blue spruce, probably 25 feet high. Maybe I’ll hang some bird seed balls on it. Cardinals make great ornaments, don’t they?
And because I’m a cooperative, obedient sort, and the wenches thought Christmas recipes would be nice, I’ll add my flambe recipe: Find a figgy pudding, or a fruity cake, or a decadent relative or whatever shows up in your kitchen. Apply good dollop of 80 proof liquor, preferably brandy, cognac, or for the cheap among you, rum. Set fire to above.
If a figgy pudding isn’t readily available, sip 80 proof until something flamable appears. As last resort, set fire to breath. Just don’t melt the chocolate.