An embarrassing moment at work...

There's nothing I love more than tradition.

The Mclure family has been decorating this tree for years

and I look forward to seeing it during the Christmas season.

Yes, there is the tree on Main Street, but it lacks character...anyone can do that. This one, on the other hand, speaks of dedication to a cause.

This tree is proof that you don't need to spend a pile of money to make a memory. This year, I'm celebrating thriftiness. Our society is becoming too materialistic and I don't want to buy into the hype... well, that's not the real reason. I'll just tell you the truth: the dentist has all of our Christmas money.

Grinding my teeth in my sleep, I broke one off.

Message to self: Stress down!

It's okay, the lovely porcelain crown made a charming gift for the whole family.

Now, I'm going to tell you something embarrassing that happened earlier this week at work. It all started when someone had the clever idea to make paper snowflakes and hang them around the workplace.

This was a lovely, inexpensive way to decorate, and we each took our paper and

scissors and started to create. I looked at each of the women, seemingly at ease with this kind of project. Not so with me...I am not adept with scissors and was

immediately inundated with negative self-talk.

I began to feel very jealous of them all. I really wanted to impress them by making the very best snowflake they had ever seen. I attempted this, cutting elaborate circles on the paper, curlicues, and other innovative designs.

I must say that they all seemed most impressed with what I was doing.

Nonchalantly, I smiled at them, but inwardly, I was gloating about my superior snowflake. Finally, the moment of triumph arrived. I made sure they were all looking as I unfolded my snowflake in a grand gesture...but it looked...exactly like a set of ovaries. The other ladies mouths fell open when they saw it. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. "Okay, okay," I said in an attempt to relieve the obvious unease that everyone was feeling. "It looks like a pair of ovaries...complete with the fallopian tubes." Everyone's voice seemed to go up an octave as they offered false sounding reassurances that the snowflake looked just fine. Everyone else's snowflakes looked perfect and round. My only option was to help the embarrassing thing disappear at the first opportunity. Then, to my dismay, someone decided to laminate all of the snowflakes...you know, to preserve them. Now my plot to rip it accidently and irreparably was destroyed. The other day, a visitor was looking at the snowflakes and remarking about how beautiful they were. Then her eyes fell on mine. "That one is really different."

Really, an equivocal comment was the safest route. Martha Stewart, I'm not.

Somehow, I was born into a family of two incredibly talented and artistic parents.

My sister inherited it all. I can't draw stick people.

And now I know that I can't make snowflakes either...