Author's Note: Handwritten recipe books are a bit of a treasure in our family. I have my mother's and grandmother's, as well as one I wrote out from mum's when I left home to go to university. My mum's chocolate cake recipe was so famous in our family (and amongst friends) that I put the recipe in her funeral booklet when she passed. Anyway, we treasure recipe books. My grandmother was also pretty frugal. She was famous for taking books (like in her case a 1930s guide for new mothers) and using the pages as a scrapbook for recipes cut from magazines, handwritten ones from friends and the like. The mix of recipes with the baby raising tips that still appear throughout is a delight. It may also include random family happenings (postcard from Googie), gardening tips and more. I would think that if there was an O'Toole one similar, it would still be the go-to recipe advice.)

Oliver was engrossed in the tattered cookbook before him. This book as a family heirloom, and the fact that he had the said book was a point of jealousy for a whole plethora of relations. The book was the font of all knowledge for things kitchen related, but also for cleaning tips, gardening advice and household repairs. Oliver was sure that his grandmother's recipe for the maple and mustard glaze needed for the ham he was planning to bake was in the book somewhere, but currently he was not having much success. He could, thanks to the book, clean mould from surfaces using oil of cloves, make a Christmas garland from dried orange slices (Shane would probably like to see that – or not, as she would probably want to make it and he couldn't see where she could possibly put it. Better not show Shane, he thought.) A few pages later, he found it. Maple Syrup and Mustard Ham Glaze. He pulled a notebook towards him, and taking his grandfather's pen from the suitcoat hanging over the back of a dining chair, he began to make a list.

About halfway through his careful notetaking, he was interrupted by his wife. Shane sat beside him at the dining table, daintily placed her elbows on the surface, interlaced her hands and looked through her lashes at him. Practice had made Oliver able to withstand Shane's charm offensives for at least minutes. He lasted about two. He placed his own elbow on the table, leant his chin into his palm and raised an eyebrow in her direction.

'Can I help you?' he asked.

Shane lent in a little closer. 'It's time, Oliver.'

He looked as if he was going to ask a question.

'Tree time!' Shane giggled with excitement.

Oliver was not sure he was going to be of any great assistance in the matter, and that must have showed.

'Don't worry. You are merely the brawn. All creative decisions are not in your purview.'

With a slight throat clearing of resignation, he followed the direction of Shane's pointed finger and made his way to her office, ready to gather the many … oh so many boxes requiring relocation.

Many expeditions from the living room to Shane's office and the return later, General Shane stood, hands on hips, ready to assemble the first O'Toole Christmas tree. Oliver reached for a box of ornaments and began to open it.

Shane stopped him with a 'No, no, no, no! What are you doing?'

Oliver stepped blithely into the pit yawning before him. 'Opening a box so you can arrange them on the tree?'

Shane was certain that Oliver should know better than that by now. 'Really? Come on Oliver! You move when I tell you!'

'Yes ma'am,' was his response.

'Good answer, solider!'

Shane might claim that she was nothing like her mother, but at moments like these, Oliver could see the similarity. Shane had some very definite thoughts about tree decoration. The next hour was spent first placing the floral picks, then the pearl ball lights joined in a series. Oliver couldn't help but notice that although he placed the strings onto the tree, there was often a final twitch or in some cases complete relocation before Shane was satisfied.

Next, half an hour was spent arranging cascades of twisted wide gold wired ribbon, paired with narrower cream velvet. Originally planning to tuck and tie the ribbon in a spiral from the tip to the base, Shane decided (after she had completed the task) that it would be better in four vertical waterfalls from top to bottom. Oliver was absolutely certain that it was lovely the first way and could not really see that it looked any better the second time around, but he was not foolish enough to share this thought.

'Oliver,' Shane interrupted Oliver's daydream about needing to go and chop some wood, or complete some last-minute woodworking project that required his attention, 'Where are your ornaments?'

Oliver was certain that what he had to offer would not meet the decorative splendour of Shane's tree. He attempted to prevaricate, hoping that Shane might get side tracked. Oliver should have known that he didn't stand a chance. He cleared his throat and made his way to the garage, and upon finding a dusty box on a high shelf, gave it a perfunctory dust, then brought it into the living room.

Being instructed to place it on the coffee table (he really should have dusted better), he did, then sat on the couch, fully expecting Shane to disparage the collection. Pulling the decaying tape from the top of the box, Shane opened it and peered inside. The box itself was full of a variety of handmade and commercially produced baubles, as well as a small cardboard box. Shane reached for the smaller box first.

Oliver was swamped by waves of not very welcome memories. First, he recalled how his mother thought the crocheted, embroidered and hand-painted ornaments were old-fashioned and dull. He waited for the same response from Shane.

Shane had some idea that Oliver was somewhat trepidatious. Why? Surely, he didn't think that she would pass judgement on family ornaments. Oh, she wouldn't, but somebody probably had. Which witch had cast scorn on these? Both, she thought.

Shane took each item and started making three piles. Oliver watched, wondering what the piles meant. He was soon informed.

'Okay,' Shane began, indicating the first pile, 'These I love. They are so gorgeous and will match this year perfectly.'

She picked up a crocheted snowflake. 'Look how beautiful this is. It can go straight on the tree. These are so perfect!'

Oliver knew that once again, he had underestimated the wonder that was his wife. His mother and indeed Holly, had judged his family traditions and found them wanting, but Shane? She was definitely Team O'Toole. As if he needed further proof, she moved on to the second pile.

'These are also great but might need a little something before they go on the tree. Some of them are a little yellow with age or have lost their stiffness. I will get some raw starch and get the droopy ones sorted, but I don't want to wash the other ones without some research. Maybe there is a remedy I will need to use. Oliver, you should have brought these out earlier, so I could have them ready to hang now.'

Oliver was certain that the rest of his life was going to be a whole series of experiences where he fell in love with Shane for a whole variety of reasons, over and over again. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Shane was now certain that he had expected a different response. Not anything like the last two Mrs O'Tooles, she thought.

Oliver grinned. God was in his heaven, and all was indeed right with the world, he thought.

'And the third group?'

'Oh, they are great too, but won't go with this year's tree. Should we display them somewhere else, or just keep them for a different colour theme?'

Wait, what? She was already thinking ahead, planning to change the colour theme? Planning to but more Christmas decorations? O happy day!

Shane was not waiting for Oliver to catch up, but had rather begun to go through the remainder of the ornaments. Oliver watched as Shane pulled a mismatched collection of decorations from the box. He reached for a frankly creepy plastic elf.

'Well, some of these might need to stay in the box,' he laughed.

Shane turned towards her husband. 'Oliver, you need to tell me which of these you want to have on the tree.'

Oliver looked puzzled. 'I thought you had a colour scheme in mind?'

'I do, but this is our tree. Not just mine, not just yours. Our tree. It has to be about both of us. You know, like the starfish.'

Oliver blinked, so overcome with emotion that he was almost tearful. If he did not think luck was the religion of the lazy, then he might consider himself lucky. Maybe blessed described it better. He reached for a tiny white leather shoe.

'This was apparently part of what I wore on my first birthday.'

'Well, that is absolutely going on there! Evidence of dapper-ness at one!'

'I love how you think that making new words is that simple.'

'Shakespeare did it.'

'I look forward to reading your first play. Moving on, I loved these as a child.' He held up some very glittery Santas.

'You are full of surprises, O'Toole.'

After much laughter, debate, and teasing, (indeed, some kisses may have made the activity take longer than it should have) a pile of ornaments were returned to the box, and a pile were left on the table, waiting to be added to the tree.

Another hour later, the ornaments, old and new, had all been placed on the tree. Empty boxes as well as the box of unused ornaments were returned to the garage. Shane suddenly remembered the tree skirt was missing, and Oliver enjoyed the sight of her trying to crawl under the tree to place the fabric. Shane stuck her head out from under the tree.

'You could help you know!'

'Oh no, this is much better as a spectator sport.'

'Funny.'

Shane crawled out from under the branches. She walked around three sides of the tree. Every now and again she would move and ornament or ribbon what Oliver thought was no more than a millimetre. Suddenly done, she stepped back.

'It's perfect,' Shane exclaimed, wrapping Oliver in bear hug.

'It certainly is,' he replied, not looking at the tree. 'Does the official lighting of the tree require champagne, or hot cocoa?'

'It requires placing the topper, turning on the lights, a fire in the fireplace, Christmas music as an accompaniment, and cocoa and cuddles on the couch.'

'Yes ma'am,' he grinned. 'I'll get the fire, and you get the cocoa, and we shall rendezvous at 21 00 hours.'

'Still not funny,' was the reply from the kitchen.

Some minutes later, the starfish was in place and the lights were officially on. Flames crackled in the fireplace, and the King's Singers carolled quietly in the background. Shane and Oliver were curled up contentedly on the couch, looking at their magnificent tree.

'Would you like to see some more O'Toole history?' Oliver asked.

'Of course! What have you got?'

Oliver walked to the dining table and gathered up the recipe book. He walked back to the couch and placed it in Shane's hands. They sat, laughing, and reading entries to each other for the rest of the evening.

Shane did find the instructions for a dried orange slice garland. One was completed and hung by the next evening.