My Real Christmas Tree

I love this time of the year. I especially love the scent of fresh Christmas trees and garlands, not the dusty, musty smell from the one out of the box. My brother’s family used to always go cut their own tree, so a couple of years after I was single again, I decided that sounded good. The fresh smell would invigorate my house and it would be a “real” Christmas.

The day was chosen and we trooped out to the tree farm. Perusing the trees, hacksaw in hand, I finally found the one. I was good for about three sawcuts, then my brother had to take over, so really the day turned into Brad cuts down two Christmas trees, loads two trees, and unloads two trees.

We arrived at my house and unloaded my tree to cart it in and place it in the new stand I had bought. I grabbed the top and my brother grabbed the bottom and we started off. I dropped it.

“It’s sticky.”

“It’s sap. Pick up and let’s get it in the house.”

“My hands are sticky. I have to wash them.”

He looked at me. “Pick up the tree and let’s get it in the house then you can wash your hands. They’ll just get sticky again, because I’m not moving YOUR tree by myself.”

I mumbled something and picked up the tree again.

“And don’t even tell me it’s heavy. We have 20 steps to the house, you can make it. Now move it.”

I mumbled some more and we got the tree in the house. Brad dropped it in the stand.

“It’s crooked.” He adjusted something at the base.

“How’s that?”

“Now it’s crooked the other way.” He adjusted something else.

“Now?”

“It’s not as crooked.” He backed out. “You’re not going to fix it.”

He looked at me again. “Okay. It’s good.” He smiled and left.

I decorated the tree, enjoying the smell, washed the sticky off my hands. Got sticky again mixing the syrup water for the stand, pulled the needles off that were stuck to the syrup and washed my hands again. Lit a fire and enjoyed my real Christmas tree.

I came home from work the next day and found my tree on the floor. Called my brother and he came over and stood it up again. I didn’t tell him it was still crooked. Came home from work a couple of days later and found it on the floor again. Stood it up by myself, washed the sap off my hands and enjoyed my real tree.

A few days later I came home, and yes, it was on the floor again. I stood it up one more time, took a piece of string and tied it to the curtain rod. I swept up the falling needles, checked the water level, and washed the sap off my hands.

Finally Christmas came and went and I called my brother to come help me remove the tree. He pulled it out of the stand, but it wouldn’t move.

“What’s wrong with this tree? Why won’t it move.”

“It’s tied to the curtain rod. It kept falling down, so I fixed it.”

He looked at me. “You tied it . . . “

“To the curtain rod. It didn’t fall down anymore.”

He shook his head, pulled out his pocketknife and cut the string.

I bought a tree in a box when they went on sale in January. My brother couldn’t take another year of me having a real tree.


Stevie

copyright 2009 Stevie Stevens, Fort Worth, TX. All rights reserved.