Assuming your definition of “tree” includes artificial constructs of aluminum and some weird green nylon that looks great but doesn’t smell like a real tree and in fact is starting to smell funkier every year as it comes out of the box but it’s nothing that a little Febreze can’t take care of.
It’s ours, it’s a family tradition. This one we’ve had eleven, twelve years, something like that. The one we had for ten years before that is still sitting out in the garage. I’m too scared to open that box. Rumor has it there’s a hyperspace gateway to Mordor in there. Or maybe to Milwaukee or Muskegon. Whatever.
We have bubble lights (the highly flammable versions of which I fondly remember from my youth) which I love and a ton of ornaments which we’ve bought as family heirlooms. As the heirloom ornament collection grows a little each year, the cheap, generic colored balls we bought twenty and twenty-five years ago get used less and less. Eventually the cheap, generic colored balls will be so old that they’ll be declared to be de facto family treasures (it’s sort of like attaining sainthood) and passed out to the kids as they start their own families and their own traditions. It’s a “circle of life” thing.
Finally, the unexpected treasure of the day comes when I was trying to get up off the floor after taking the picture above and accidentally hit the button on the camera (iPhone). I went to delete it, but instead found it to be strangely beautiful and delightful:
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 