Posted tagged ‘Christmas tree’

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“Gee, do they still make wooden Christmas trees?”

December 10, 2012

Last night it started raining and it has yet to stop. I find rain a bit dismal this time of year as I always think of Christmas as snow time. Maybe it’s the carols that have me hoping for an inch or two or Santa’s sleigh or how pretty the snow looks. I remember looking out the window and seeing snow falling and yelling in excitement for everyone to come and see.

Today I’m bringing you the story of my Christmas tree. I bought it yesterday, and it is beautiful, shorter than usual but just as full. I went to Hart Farm, and that wasn’t easy. You can no longer get there from here. The bridge right before Hart’s is closed for repair so that means going all the way around on Route 28, my least favorite road, but Gracie and I made the trek anyway. Walking among the Christmas trees made it all worthwhile. The smell was wonderful, and I found 2 trees, either of which could grace my living room. The man who works there is a former student, and I asked which of the trees he’d choose. One, he said, would shed its needles quickly but the other would keep them. It was an easy choice; of course, the price was hefty on the second one, but I bought it anyway, and I also bought a centerpiece of boxwood. The tree was put in my trunk and all the way home I had to hear the beep, beep, beep, the incessant beep of my car telling me the trunk was open. Did you notice it was all the way home, the long way.

I got home and tried to get the tree out of the trunk. It was stuck, but I yanked and pulled and got it out, leaned it against the car then decided to attach the new tree stand before bringing the tree inside the house. I bought the new tree stand anticipating a smaller tree. The stand fit but wouldn’t go up the trunk far enough so the tree could have water. Two nubs of branches were in the way. I cursed as I took the stand off and then went down the cellar to get the other tree stand, the stand easy enough for one person to use. I attached the bottom of the stand to the trunk then carried the tree into the house. No, carry is wrong. I lifted and stopped, lifted and stopped because of the weight of the tree. A few times the tree wouldn’t move; I couldn’t lift it. I finally figured out that’s what happens when you step on lower branches. At last the tree made it to the living room. Three low branches were broken, stepped on too many times. I lifted the tree, put in into the stand then moved it around until it was straight. I pushed in the pedal which secures the tree in place then got the funnel with the long tube. That’s new this year. It for watering the tree so I don’t have to crawl on my stomach to give it water. I hid the tube in the branches then sat on the couch to fill the funnel with water when all of a sudden the tree started to lean. I thought it would fall so I grabbed it. The funnel filled with water angled when the tree leaned and spilled water all over the floor and all over me. I cursed, cleaned up the mess and was about ready to turn this tree into a yule log but decided to try again. I went down the cellar to get a dry sweatshirt and the directions for the tree stand. Ah, the directions, why didn’t she get them in the first place. She didn’t get them because she thought she remembered how to use the stand. Wrong!

I lifted the tree out of the stand, pulled out the pedal as directed, held my foot on it, a step I hadn’t done the first time, and then placed the tree back into the stand and moved it until it was straight then I pushed in the pedal. The tree stayed straight and tall. I stopped cursing.

The tree is sitting in the middle of my living room as I have to move a few small pieces of furniture before it can sit in its rightful place then the decorating will begin. I’m betting the finished tree will make everything worthwhile.

 

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“Christmas is the day that holds all time together.”

December 9, 2012

During The 12 Disasters of Christmas, last night’s syfi channel movie,  there wasn’t a single Fa La La La. Italy and Greece disappeared into the sea. The President was airborne because Washington had been fractured and was a gaping hole though at that point a droll observer might have opined Washington really hadn’t been affected at all. A crazy army general declared himself the leader of the new world and quoted biblical verses as proof but he was electrocuted by lightning bolts, proof he wasn’t. Our hero saved the world by inserting a rod, his birthright, into the head of a moai, one of six which had been buried in the US. The world was righted. I expect The 12 Disasters of Christmas will take its place among the giants of the season: Miracle on 34th Street, It’s a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story and one of my personal favorites, Jack Frost, the killer snowman.

The rain has disappeared and left a cold sunny day, but the rain is due back later today and will stay around until Wednesday.

The dining room and kitchen are pretty well decorated for Christmas. I made several trips from the cellar yesterday hauling decorations upstairs so today I’ll give my back a break, but the living room looks awfully bare. Maybe I need to get and put up my tree. I always think that the best part of decorating.

The tree holds the most memories. Many ornaments have stories attached and some come from places far away in space and time. Ornaments from my childhood hang on the tree. They are glass ones which survived four kids, a dog and a few tree disasters. Some of the paint has worn off in places, but I don’t care. I don’t really notice. Ghana is well represented. Michelle’s old ornaments will be hung on my tree for the first time. They were a precious gift from her. New ornaments from Ghana will join them. Hand-made ornaments are some of my favorites because of the love infused in the making of them. Peter Pan and Captain Hook are on my tree as is Dorothy’s witch. I have a really ugly ornament, a woman dressed in go-go boots and a pink outfit. She sits right in front, right next to the angel with the stringy hair. My tree has beauty and it has whimsy.

I love sitting in the living room looking at the tree bright with lights. Gracie usually joins me on the couch and puts her head on my lap. The two of us just sit there quietly together.

 

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“Get the biggest aluminum tree you can find, Charlie Brown, maybe painted pink.”

December 6, 2012

Today is definitely chillier than the last few days, but it’s sunny so I’ll take that and be glad. Gracie and I will be hitting the dump today, her favorite stop of all. It even beats Agway where she gets to shop with me and have a few treats.

My house still needs to be decorated, but I have a Christmas timetable starting tonight with the cards. My second box of cards arrived a couple of days ago so no more excuses. After that I need to buy the tree and then decorate the house. I’m thinking a smaller tree this year, maybe even a couple of small trees. That’s on tap for the weekend.

The Tale of a Mouse is the name of this paragraph. Those of you who are a bit squeamish should move on. For the rest of you, this mouse tale starts a couple of weeks ago when I went down to the cellar to do laundry. The cellar, particularly near the washer, smelled disgusting, and I know a dead something was somewhere down there. I went looking and found nothing. Over time the smell weakened, and I stopped hunting. On Tuesday I decided to bring up all the gifts from downstairs in preparation for wrapping. I grabbed my large plastic tub to fill with the gifts so I would only have to make a single trip. Yup, you guessed it. The mouse had been trapped in the tub where it met its demise. It was disgusting. I opened the cellar door and tossed the remains outside then scrubbed that tub. The results remain: tub -1, mice-0

I know they are perfectly ugly, but I have always wanted a tall aluminum tree with a color wheel. It would never be my only Christmas tree. Nope, my tree has to be real, one that fills the house with the smell of Christmas, but there is something about an aluminum tree which has always attracted me. I just can’t explain it. My sister gave me a small one last year, but it is too small for a color wheel. I didn’t decorate it last year as I didn’t open it until Christmas Day, but this year I’m putting red ornaments on it. I think aluminum and red are a great match. This small one will satisfy me for the meantime, but I’m still on the look-out for its bigger, uglier brother.

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“Christmas is the keeping-place for memories of our innocence.”

December 1, 2012

Rainy and chilly this morning, but that will be changing in the next couple of days to warm and sunny. I almost can’t wait. The sun has been missing for so many days the world almost seems post-apocalyptic. Exaggeration you’re thinking? Not so says I who has seen so many science fiction movies. I know post-apocalyptic!!

Two spawns of Satan were at the feeders this morning as were two birds I haven’t seen dining on the deck before. I looked them up, and they were white-throated sparrows. Nuthatches and woodpeckers have been by every day, but I haven’t seen my chickadees, the usual stalwarts. The new suet feeder has been seeing quite a bit of action as has the older one I rehung. The birds seem to like where it is now.

The errand on tap today is fun. I need wreaths as the outside lights go up tomorrow. I’ll be happy, even in the rain, to wander through the garden center filled with the scent of Christmas.

When I was young, I don’t ever remember caring what the tree looked like before it was decorated. It was always a wonder. My father would bring it in and set it up in the corner where the TV console usually sat. He’d get on his stomach and slide under the lowest branches to tighten the screws on the tree stand into the trunk. My mother usually held the tree as straight as she could while my father tightened. I remember the fully decorated tree falling down a few times. Once my brother and I were home alone when it fell. I held it up while he tried to fix it firmly into the stand. My father took to using wire or string attached to the tree trunk then to the wooden part of the windows so the tree would have extra support.

It was always agony waiting for a couple of days for the tree branches to fall in a good way, to spread out after being enclosed for travel. Once they did, we could decorate. We all had traditional jobs. My father was in charge of the lights, the old kind of lights where one bulb knocked out the whole set. He has his system for testing to find the culprit. Once the lights were on, my mother strung the tinsel in loops around the tree. She has a vision as to how it should look. Then it was our turn. We got to put the ornaments on, except for the really big beautiful ones my mother always hung on the top branches away from us. My sisters were young and shorter so they did the lower branches. We always oohed and ahhed over the ornaments as if we’d never seen them before. Last were the icicles (though for some they’re called tinsel). We’d hang them one at a time off branches then we’d throw them in piles on the tree out of boredom.  My mother usually finished the tree. She’d remove those gobs of icicles we’d thrown and individually hang each one. She took her time, and the tree was always beautiful.

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“The less routine the more life.”

January 3, 2012

It’s cold. 32° cold. I have my Christmas tree to take down today so I won’t be going anywhere. I’m always sad when the tree goes. I miss the aroma of pine and the beauty of the lights. My living room reverts to drab and ordinary.

The tree disappeared magically when I was a kid. It was there when I went to school, but when I got home, it was gone. I guess it was like the Elves and the Shoemaker.

At first I struggled for something to write. That happens sometimes. I thought a while and all of a sudden I was inspired.

Elementary school was my first introduction to the routines of life. Every day, Monday through Friday, was the same. I even ate the same breakfast: cocoa and toast and oatmeal if my mother made me eat it on the really cold days. I wore the same outfit, my uniform: a blue skirt, a white blouse and a blue tie. I had a pair of school shoes, and I wore them every day then changed them when I got home. I carried my lunch in a lunchbox. The lunch varied from day-to-day, but I could always count on a sandwich and a dessert. Back then I didn’t realize I was part of a dress rehearsal.

High school was also a routine. Up early, eat on the quick and hurry to catch the bus to the town where I attended school. The bus came at 7:05. I wore a uniform: a plaid skirt, a white blouse, a gray vest and blazer, nylons and black loafers. I carried a school bag, one of those green ones which had to be pulled to close and could be carried over the shoulder on your back. It was required, and it was ugly.

In college, I could wear what I wanted as long as part of it was a skirt. That changed sophomore year when it was so cold we were allowed to wear pants, and once they had opened that door, it couldn’t be shut. I had a schedule of classes, and my friends and I met every morning for coffee, and we had a contest each day as to who could finish the crossword puzzle the fastest. It was a routine of sorts but far different than those of my childhood. College was the freest of times.

Once I got home from Ghana and started teaching, I was back to a set routine: getting up early, having a cup of coffee, going to school, teaching five classes, coming home, changing out of school clothes, preparing classes, correcting papers and then having what was left of the day as mine. There was never much left.

People cautioned me about my early retirement. I didn’t get what they meant at first. I hadn’t stop to think that my life had been a series of routines, and here I was starting a life without one.

When I run into people now, they always ask what I’ve been doing as if doing is so important. I always figure they ask because they’re still in the routine stage of life when doing is most of all there is.

I guess I do have a bit of a routine. I drink my coffee, read my papers and then write. That’s it. That’s all I have left of routine.

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“Like snowflakes, my Christmas memories gather and dance – each beautiful, unique and too soon gone.”

December 17, 2011

Last night was cold, but today we’re back up to 50°. The sun is in and out of the clouds making the day bright but not sunny. I have to refill the feeders later and I’m glad my fingers won’t freeze. Earlier was already warm enough for me to stand outside for a little bit watching Gracie. She ran like a crazy dog around the yard, came in and got her snack, always two biscuits, then she flopped down on the couch for her morning nap. That’s where she still is. One cat, Fern, is on the couch in the living room, and the other, Maddie, just went down the cellar. I suspect she might be mouse hunting.

Later I have some shopping to do so I’m gearing up to fight the crowds at the supermarket and curse the wagons left in the middle of the aisles. My list is small and for that I am thankful. I hate grocery shopping.

Gracie and I went for a ride to see the lights the other night. I was far more enthused than she. I pointed out to her all the wonderfully lit houses, lamented the dark ones and laughed a bit at the “at least they did something houses.” I saw lit Christmas trees through windows and a few plastic Santas on lawns. Those Santas reminded me of my childhood when plastic Santas were the newest Christmas decorations. I have a few myself I’ve collected over the years but haven’t used them in a while. I think next year they’ll be perfect for the deck. It will be like a Santa convention.

When I was young, we used to string popcorn for the tree and a couple of times we added the cranberries. We’d sit at the kitchen table with the bowl of popcorn in the middle for us to share. It took a delicate push to get the needle through without breaking the kernel, but no matter how gently we tried, the table was usually strewn with broken pieces of corn kernels. We’d munch as we worked figuring the popcorn was as much for eating as threading. When our strands were ready, we’d each take our own and place it on the tree looped from branch to branch. We’d then step back to admire our work and how pretty it looked on the tree. When Christmas was over, the strands went outside for the birds.

We stopped doing popcorn when my dog Shauna decided the Christmas tree was for snacking. We caught her eating the popcorn enough times that we gave up before she pulled the tree down during her snack time. Shauna was a great one for sniffing out treats from just about anywhere. She always found her present under the tree. She’d pull it out from the pile and unwrap it then settle down to eat her present. She was always on Santa’s nice list.

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“Christmas isn’t a season. It’s a feeling.”

December 6, 2011

The sky is white cloudy. The breeze is warm and it’s 58°. The weatherman has warned us that cold weather, winter weather, is coming later in the week. It’s time for the woolies to come out of the drawer.

Some of the leaves still hang precariously from the ends of the oak tree branches near the deck. The leaves are brown and curled and blow back and forth in the breeze. They don’t know their time is long over. Huge scrub pine trees tower over the backyard. They are old and some are delicate. Every winter more branches fall. One tree is dead and another has a broken branch hanging across two branches which keep it from falling in the yard. Come spring both will be gone after the clean-up.

Every night even more houses are bright with outside lights. Never have I seen as many this early in the season. I think the warm weather was the incentive. It is far easier putting up lights when your fingers don’t get stiff from the cold.

All my friends and family buy real trees at Christmas. My sister, when her kids were little, had two: one in the living room and one in the family room. They went to a cut down your own tree farm each year, and one of my nephews claims every tree they brought home back then looked like a Charlie Brown tree. This year my sister has only one tree, and it’s in the family room so she can see it every night while she watches television. My other sister is putting hers up tonight. I can see my friends’ tree all lit up through the window when I go by their house. This time of year I always use their end of the street so I can see the tree.

I sit in the living room and read all afternoon with the tree lit. I stop reading often just to look at the tree and all the ornaments. Some are from my childhood, others I made for my mother and they came back to me when she passed away, many are from my trips while others are gifts from my friends and their trips, a couple are from Africa and some, like the ragged angel and the clown, are just ugly or weird, and I love them for that. I think my tree is just beautiful, but I suspect we all think our trees are beautiful.

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“Cold! If the thermometer had been an inch longer we’d have frozen to death.”

December 5, 2011

Today is warm; it’s 56°. That’s not winter the way it should be with Christmas only three weeks away. I remember walking to school this time of year bundled against the wind and the cold. My head was covered; my legs were encased in snow pants under my skirt and my fingers were barely warm inside my mittens. A scarf  kept my face from the worst of the wind, but the walk to school was always a cold one. It was actually a relief to arrive at school and hear the hiss of radiators as we stood in the cloakroom and shed our outer skins.

At the foot of my bed was a radiator. Above it was a window. The window was never very good at keeping out the cold nor was the radiator much better at keeping my room warm. Often, on a freezing winter morning, the inside bottom panes of the glass were covered with frost. I remember taking my fingernail and using it to write my name across the frost. We wore flannel pajamas to bed and always had slipper socks to keep our feet warm on the cold floors. I still wear slipper socks. I like the sound the soles make on the floor, that scuffing sound. Every Christmas we always got a new pair. Back then the slipper socks were all grey with brown leather soles. Now they come in every color.

We used to run to be the first to turn on the window lights. You had to turn the bulb as there was no switch. Back then our living room was the only one with window lights. My favorite was the one with five bulbs which always went in the picture window. The bases of all the lights were plastic, and when the bulbs were added, they sometimes got top-heavy. My father used to tape the bases to the window sill so the lights wouldn’t fall off. Sometimes they did anyway and the bulbs would shatter. I remember the small pieces of an orange bulb all over the floor.

Each night one of us had to crawl under the tree to the outlet to plug in the main cord to the lights. I remember there were lots of cords attached to one another, but we never had a problem with the cords or the fuses. I do remember a few times when the tree fell. It always fell slowly loaded down as it was with lights and ornaments. My dad would lift up the tree, one of us would hold it by the trunk, and he’d lie down on his stomach to tighten the screws in the base. That didn’t always work and the tree would sometimes fall again. My dad’s solution was always a hammer, some wire and some nails, never a bigger tree stand. I think he enjoyed the challenge.

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“Some called it a thorn bush. We called it our Christmas tree.”

December 10, 2010

Old man winter has raised his hoary little head, at least that’s what I’m told. It seems everyone who drops by starts off the conversation by saying how cold it is. I, dressed in socks, slippers, flannels and a sweatshirt, try my best to look sympathetic. I admit, though, when I look outside, I swear I can see the cold.

The banging has stopped. The house is all shingled. Yesterday Rosana and Lee, my cleaning people and my friends, came to put the house to rights. I had asked them to give me more time, and they were wonderful. Thanksgiving is finally gone, packed away until next year. Everything is back on the walls. The dirt from the shinglers’ boots is gone, and my kitchen sparkles. So do I.

The pain doesn’t make me scream anymore. Now I just ahh, ouch, moan and occasionally drop an expletive. I know a day of activity, such as yesterday, will make the next day a difficult one. That’s today, but I’m careful and following the half hour rule. With fingers wishfully crossed I’m hoping that I’m making progress. I figure not scaring the birds from the trees is a good sign.

Everyone always had live trees when I was a kid. The only artificial trees back then were the ones I saw in magazines. They had widely spaced white tinsel branches and a round disc of colored lights rotated in front to give the trees the colors they lacked. I think they were supposed to be avant-garde, and a black cocktail dress with a pouffy bottom half was part of the dress code if you wanted to sit near the tree. All of us, my friends, my sisters and I, still prefer live trees. The house needs to smell of fir. The lights and decorations on the tree glow and shine and seem to warm the winter nights.

My parents often couldn’t agreed on a tree. My dad preferred a cheaper tree which always had gaps between the branches. My mother wanted the perfect tree. When I was little, it didn’t matter to me. I just wanted the tree. Besides, we always found something to fill the gaps. I remember we had a cardboard Santa drinking a coke, and it always hung down and hid a good portion of the gap.

A friend told me no tree should be more than $15.00, and he knew how to solve the gap problem. He’d cut off most of the back branches, drill holes in the front part of the trunk and then he’d put the back branches in the front holes. The tree went in a corner. It always looked full and beautiful.

My trees never have gaps, and they are as tall as my room. My mother taught me that.

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