I’ve had a white Christmas tree for as long as I can remember — ever since my girls were little. Back then, I decided it was time to switch from a real tree (and all the pine-needle chaos that comes with it) to something easier. I took my daughter Maria shopping and told her she could choose any “fake” tree she wanted.

And of course… she pointed straight at the white one.

I remember thinking, Really? The white tree?
But we brought it home, decorated it with colorful lights, and something unexpected happened.

It was magical.

Every year, when the lights were finally on, we’d lie on our backs under the branches and look up through the glowing colors. It felt like we had stepped inside our own private snow globe — just the three of us, the tree, and the wonder of the season.

Now the girls are grown, with families and traditions of their own. And every year when I pull out that white tree, I feel a little tug of melancholy — the sweet kind that comes with remembering moments that made you who you are.

Tonight, like always, I turned on the lights and sat with the tree before adding any decorations. I love it best that first night — quiet, simple, soft.

This time, Isa joined me.
She has a way of sensing what I need, curling up right beside me as if to say, I’m here. I’ve got you. Dogs have a magic all their own.

Next week my granddaughters and grandson will be here, and the house will explode into joyful chaos — toys everywhere, little feet running, voices overlapping, holiday energy buzzing through every room.

But tonight, it’s just me and Isa.
My husband is in the other room enjoying his beloved B-movies, and the two of us are here, sitting in the glow of a white tree that holds decades of memories.

And in this gentle, quiet moment, I’m reminded:

Life is beautiful — in the noise, in the quiet, and in every shimmering memory in between.