My children demand a live Christmas tree. My husband demanded a live tree. I am blaming him for his children following in his foot steps. Doug is no longer here to supervise a tree buying trip and the children don't live within a watermelon seed spitting distance. So why go to the trouble of getting a live tree?
Guilt.
I would buckle down and get a live, needle shedding, needing lights strung around those pokey needles, tree for my sweet adult children.
The majority of my life has been spent living south of interstate 10. The southern people with a live tree purchase it a couple weeks before Christmas. The weather is too warm which causes those pesky needles to fall at an accelerated rate.
That was my plan. I was ignorant to the fact that in the northern hemisphere people gobble up trees after Thanksgiving like it was left over pie.
My search started in a nearby town a couple weeks before Christmas. I cruised the parking lots of the few stores that sold trees. It was to my horror there was not a sign of any pine trees. Not even a scattering of needles on the ground. I sped off to another town. Same scenario.
My next decision set the hair on my head straight up. I would buy an artificial tree. And my children would learn to love it!
Strolling around the Christmas tree aisle at Wal Mart, I realized there were tons of options. Short trees, tall trees, round trees, skinny trees, trees that are already have lights on them. Any tree I didn't have to wrap lights around would be the tree for me. I chose a skinny tree about my size. My thoughts were why go all out on a big tree. There was always that possibility the children would pick up the entire thing and toss it into the burn pit.
I screwed the tree together. I pushed the plug into the outlet and had instant illumination. Easy-peasy.
Then the guilt returned with a vengeance.
The tree had easy lighting. But it looked fake and there was no pine sent wafting through the air.
I pulled out my phone book. I would call those stores where I saw no sign of a tree. Maybe they had them hidden.
My second phone call proved a success. One store had one tree left. "I'll be right in. Do not sell that tree. It's mine!"
I boogied into town. I strutted up to the cashier and announced, "I'm here to buy your last Christmas tree."
We waited while someone fetched the price off the hidden tree. When the price tag arrived the cashier and I both exclaimed, "One dollar?!"
"I'll take it any way." How awful could it be, I thought.
I lugged the tree into the house. Past the artificial tree standing like a sentry in my living room. I plopped it down in the dining room corner and took a good look at my children's live tree.
This was not a live tree. It was past the point of a "Charlie Brown" tree. This tree was plain dead. One side was devoid of any needles. Only brown crispy twigs poked out. The other side had a scattering of green needles and black holes.
On the bright side, I didn't have to put lights on it. It would shoot up in flames in half a millisecond.
Now I had two trees. One with lights. Both with colorful ornaments. One stood tall. One leaned like a drunken sailor. But my children had their "live" Christmas tree.
The day of the children's arrival dawned. I held my breath as they strolled into the house.
"Mom, why do you have two trees?" Then, gasps and horrors, they yelled "This one is fake!"
They trotted over to the live tree. As they reached out to loving stroke it came the order from me-"Don't touch that tree! It will disintegrate at the slightest movement!"
They learned to love our own Charlie Brown tree and to tolerate the tree that "Daddy would be ashamed of." Christmas was a success once again.
This year my daughter is getting married. (Yes, I approve of the fiancee.) I think at Christmas we should congregate at her new home. I'll let her worry about how not to buy a Charlie Brown tree.
