Photographs by Douglas Rider
Holiday Helper: Five-year-old Marissa Sorensen helps her grandmother Martha Hoffman decorate one of the Christmas trees. At last count, Hoffman had 14 Christmas trees around the house.
In the Spirit
Christmas-treephile Martha Hoffman goes ape over tree decorating
By Mary Ann Cook
At first glance this Los Gatos house looks much like its neighbors, adorned in Christmas finery now that the season is nigh. But a closer look inside reveals this house is far different--a difference of degree. Get out a calculator, do the math.
And find that the number of Christmas trees decked out in seasonal splendor and stationed throughout the four-bedroom house is 14--at last count. The fanatic sorcerer behind all those lighted, glorified limbs is one Martha Hoffman.
The rest of the year she holds her enthusiasms pretty well in check, but at Christmastime, she becomes unleashed. Or, as she puts it, "I go ape." The Zen mantra, "less is more" is not in the Hoffman Christmas vocabulary. Her theme song is more likely to be "Nothing succeeds like excess."
This annual extravaganza gradually evolved through the years, beginning in 1984. That was the year that this collector inherited all the family Christmas accouterments from both her parents and grandparents. This windfall seemed to demand its own tree.
So a 7-foot tree was found, stationed in the family room, and made resplendent with family treasures. In the Hoffman oeuvre perhaps the most glorious of all the trees--certainly the largest and the most chock-full--is a huge flocked beauty in the living room, decorated in Victoriana.
It's 10 feet tall and looks as if snow has freshly fallen on it. Except that it's hard to detect any snow or even the limbs themselves because it's so laden with artifacts. The crafty buyer found the tree at an after-holiday sale years ago at Pool, Patio & Things.
Aglow with lights that are embedded in giant roses, the impressive tree is festooned with antique dolls, huge bows, an oriental mask, iridescent grapes, sachet, a Valentine hand-painted by her husband's father for his mother and frames that hold family photos or famous sayings by poets. And of course--more roses.
The entire apparition is basically done in maroon, pink and gold, in deference to a copy of a huge Georgia O'Keefe painting in those colors that hangs behind the tree. On the tree is a Barbie doll dressed in Victorian garb. "There's an oxymoron," says Hoffman in an aside, while moving on.
But wait, next to the tree is a round table set for four with antique and exquisite china in a rose pattern. A clutch of full blown (artificial, but looking amazingly real) roses serve as centerpiece. A silver tea set resides there. The details are exquisitely drawn, down to the cunning antique salt cellars.
Complementing the rose-themed table setting are robust rose bushes that can be glimpsed through the sliding door that leads to the garden. Each bush is plump with blooms, even in December, literally bursting at their seams, er, stems.
Roses are a recurring theme in the Hoffman household: like segueing into a slice of Victoriana from the threshold of California in the year 2000.
A house tour helps explain the evolution of the tree-trimming proliferation. Each tree has a different theme, since special events in the Hoffmans' lives needed to be acknowledged. The Capitol engagement tree is a case in point.
Mementos of the Hoffmans' engagement in Washington, D.C., are festooned on a 7-footer found in one of the bedrooms. Red, white and blue ribbons stream from it, plus replicas of Uncle Sam, the White House, Supreme Court, an old-fashioned mailbox and postcards with a Washington, D.C., postmark.
Then there are small trees to commemorate each of three small grandchildren. Marissa Sorensen is the oldest at 5; Wizard of Oz characters bedeck her tree, plus animals, especially cats. She is the daughter of Heather and Steve Sorensen. Steve grew up in Monte Sereno and they live in San Jose.
Marley is nearly 2, so her tree is adorned with toddler-friendly artifacts; and Jackson is but a few weeks old, so his tree holds baby memorabilia. The children of Camille and Derek Taylor, they live at Lake Tahoe. These trees are tucked away in the master bedroom.
Also in the master bedroom is a tall Southwest tree. So called because of its red pepper lights, Mexican decorations and because it was designed in keeping with the wall hanging behind it, brilliant with reds, oranges, pinks. There are dream catchers, worry dolls, clay adobe figures and dwellings.
Naturally the millennium warranted a tree. This year it will be equipped with New Year's trappings, as well as the Year 2000 commemorative items. Husband Russell is a musician, so a tree in the sitting room has a musical motif. It's 7 feet tall and is placed in the hall doorway.
Its creator calls it the Sacred and Profane Tree since it has musical motifs on one side and pop culture items on the (mostly unseen) hall side. The oddball side sports the Taco Bell dog that says Feliz Navidad, the Jack-in-the-Box snowman, a cowboy and girl, a ladybug and a Volkswagen.
On the musical, or fine arts, side are miniature lights, red and gold bulbs, scrolls of music, Russian-looking crosses, miniatures of a black piano, a music stand and a Dickens book. A copy of an oversized Cézanne hangs in this room.
In the Spirit: Martha Hoffman, a retired school teacher, decorates 14 Christmas trees in her home, all with different themes.
Photographs by Douglas Rider
Russell Hoffman, semi-retired, was an art teacher at Bloch Junior High in Los Altos for more than 30 years and is famous for introducing his students to the masters, old and new, by having them copy famous paintings, just as art students of old did.
Thus student versions of Georgia O'Keefe, Cézanne, Diego Rivera grace the walls, recreation that were gifts to him. Some were done when the students were older--high school- or college-aged. Similar examples can be found at Bloch, Covington and Egan Schools, part of his Student Mural Masterpieces.
Martha, too, was a longtime teacher--at Marshall Lane School in the Campbell district. And she was director of three separate chorale groups there. As such, she was the recipient of untold numbers of handmade gifts from students, which accounts for the student-decorated trees in one bedroom.
A peacock for the top and peacock feathers inspired a peacock tree. This particularly appeals to artists who view it, says Russell. And angels from the ridiculous to the sublime constitute an angel tree. The two back bedrooms hold two large decorated trees each.
And two bathrooms have small trees. One is equipped with shell and beach trappings; the other is outfitted in gold and silver, with birds and bird nests, gold leaves, gold plants.
Martha Hoffman is never quite convinced when she's reached her decorating finale: There may be more tree ideas lurking in the wings, anxious to be decorated. "I never could understand how anyone could be bored. There are so many projects," she says.
Each tree is lighted and the size varies from 3 to 10 feet. All are artificial and all are folded or taken apart, piece by piece, and stored in the attic the rest of the year. Each trees' decorations are labeled and stored accordingly. Friend Dorothy Hofstar helps with the yearly dismantling.
And Shirley Allen, a professional tree trimmer, helps assemble the largest tree. Allen is a former Saratogan who now lives in Carmel Valley. She and her daughter decorate the tree at the La Rinconada condominium complex and other public places. This is the only help rendered--or sought.
"You can't tell other people what to do," says Hoffman. Because she doesn't know precisely what she's going to do herself. She takes photos, but the trees are somewhat different each year, according to what spirit moves her.
At the end of the project the Hoffmans hold an open house. Husband Russell started this tradition by inviting everyone they knew to show off his spouse's handiwork. "They're spectacular," he says. Now, like the number of trees, that tradition has continued.
The Christmas decoration fervor goes back, actually, to her childhood. "I had this disease then," says Martha H. about growing up in El Paso. "We never used the fireplace, so I talked my dad into letting me build a miniature village in it. It had a ski-jump lift coming off the ledge.
"Cotton for the snow, evergreen twigs for the forest and a mirror lake. Stars and moons were cut out of tin can lids." She also talked her dad (or maybe the gene was already there) into decorating outside. Big bulbs were hung from the tree and speakers rigged up under it. Christmas carols were chorused out and the resultant display snarled traffic. "We used to get a kick out of dousing our lights inside and watching cars slow down to take a look. This was in the days when people didn't decorate their houses like they do today."
So the decorating seeds were germinating even in childhood. It's clear that Mrs. H. is an antique lover and a history buff, being the repository for at least three generations of family treasures. She collects dolls, postcards and stamps. She would have us believe that these collections were amassed for her students--to aid in history lessons during her teaching days.
But somehow her own passion for these artifacts belies the teaching aid theory. Why is it no surprise to hear she's a member of the Santa Clara County Rose Society? Retired for the past three years, Hoffman wonders how she managed to get in so much decorating when she was still teaching.
"I used to get them decorated in a week." She can't imagine how, except that she's a night owl--and loves going berserk at least once a year. "A break from the humdrum of life," she says.
Now, about that table all set for dinner in the living room with her grandmother's dishes and her mother-in-law's salt cellars. Is it ever used, or is it part of the Christmas decor? "Oh, no, it's like that all year. And yes, we use it regularly."
And, it serves a hidden advantage. "People notice it and say, 'Oh, you're expecting company.' It's a good way to speed unwanted guests on their way."
Although, it's hard to imagine Hoffman having unwanted guests. She seems to live by the Mexican adage that hangs on one of the trees: "It's not the pesos but the amigos that tell a man's wealth. When you're robbed of friends you're robbed of joy."
Campbell, California
