The Christmas Pickle

Scene: The anteroom to The Rev.'s office. I am sitting on the floor working on Christmas cards and chatting with The Rev.'s Secretary (Hi, Rev.'s Secretary!):

"Do you have a pickle in your Christmas tree?"

"Why, as a matter of fact, I do have a pickle in my Christmas tree."

"Really? We don't have one and I'm beginning to think we should."

"Well, the only reason I have one is that one of the teachers gave me one and insisted that I must have a pickle in my Christmas tree."

Today I learned there is a German tradition of hanging a Christmas ornament in the shape of a pickle in your Christmas tree. I was raised by parents who had parents who spoke German in their homes, and I know for a fact that there were never pickled vegetables of any size or shape in any Christmas tree I have every known. Either my ancestors missed the memo on having nitrate laden fruit and vegetables hung on a dead tree, or they chose to ignore it. Given that both of my grandmother's were extremely practical, frugal people, I think they chose to ignore it.

When The Rev. was finished with his morning classes, I asked him whether or not his mother hung a pickle in their tree. He could not recall, which for me was as good as "No, and I am less of a person because of it." Today we took it upon ourselves to find a pickle to hang in our Christmas tree. We tried one Christmas shop in Escondido, and besides the throngs of people buying ornaments more ridiculous than pickles to hang in their trees (think mermaids, fish, alligators, and scary angels) we came up empty handed in our search for a pickle. We would have asked for help, but we both felt a little foolish approaching the little old lady who looked extremely overwhelmed with the mobs buying disco balls for their trees and asking, "Excuse me, do you have any pickles?"

"Let's try Hallmark."

"Absolutely not. I will not hang a pickle from Hallmark in my tree."

"Why not?"

"It's like buying coffee from Starbucks."

"You are supposed to buy coffee from Starbucks."

"That's my point. It is the easy way out, and I don't want to buy my pickle from Hallmark. This is my mission, and if Hallmark has a pickle, I am not buying it."

We found a ceramic pickle at a Christmas market in the mall (made in China, but it was a pickle!), and then I found two glass ones at another shop in Escondido. These glass pickles are Polish, and my conscience felt better that at least two of our pickles have a heritage that is remotely associated with their country of origin.

The pickles now hang in our tree, and one will go to church this weekend to hang in the tree that is outside of The Rev.'s office. Our next mission is to find olives and pickled okra.