“Evergreen boughs that fill our homes with fragrant Christmas scents; hearts filled with loving glow that Christmas represents … “
–Author unknown
Michele, a single parent of two, dragged her artificial tree down from the attic. One of the daughters has a new puppy. Of the puppy, Michele said, “I hate that dog.”
Further inquiry revealed the puppy, having been released from “time out,” in the twinkling of an eye destroyed the complete Christmas tree, lights and decorations.
A co-worker asked, “Can the tree be fixed?”
“It’s doubtful,” responded Michele.
At the Prairie house, Sam and I had our annual discussion of Christmases past when we envisioned our family’s sugar plum visit over hill and dell, towing a 16-foot trailer in pursuit of the perfect Christmas tree.
We laugh now at how sugar plum visions quickly dissolved amid muddy roads, cockleburs and conversations like, “How ’bout this one?”
“No, too big and it’s crooked at the top,” or “Let’s look some more.” Meanwhile, the sun sank further into the horizon, along with that loving Christmas feeling.
Standing in the spot where we had our last 16-foot Christmas tree, I asked Sam, “Do you remember the last tree? I stood right here admiring the tree when you went to take a shower and the girls were dressing to go out when, right before my wondering eyes, the 16-foot Christmas tree crashed to the floor.”
Sam said, “I remember.”
By the next year the girls had their own homes and trees and we, growing older and more contented with less, felt completely at ease picking out a smaller tree at Marvin’s. The new tradition has a charm all its own. I usually peruse the bargain bin with “scratched and dented” trees since I’ve always had a heart for the Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
One Christmas a very long time ago I spent the holiday at the beach. I asked a family member to search the beach for any ole tree and we’d decorate it. Lo and behold, Bob returned with a Christmas tree. “I found it,” he said.
Bob presented a discarded Christmas tree from the year before. It had not a needle but was perfect in size and form. We decorated the tree with sea shells, found fishing bobbers, gull feathers and tinfoil all strung together with fishing line. It was a delightful and memorable Christmas tree.
This year, I’ve been extra busy, and since Sam is now retired, I asked if he would mind picking out our Marvin’s Christmas tree?
“By myself?” he asked. “Without you?”
“If you don’t mind, it would be helpful to me. We can decorate it together at on the weekend.”
“I can’t imagine,” he said. “Who will I argue with? How will I decide?”
“You’ll do fine.”
And so, Sam came home with our memorable Christmas tree. The first one he picked out all by himself. Though he forgot to look in the bargain bin, it’s OK.
He exclaimed as he came into sight, “Well, that sure was easy!”
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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