How lovely are they branches
"O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, How lovely are thy branches..."
You'd think all there is to getting the tree set up, is to cut it down, bring it home, and decorate it. A nice simple ending to a Christmas tradition, but somehow it never has been that way at our house.
In the twenty some years of our marriage, we have at least ten major stories about the tree. If one year has no story, it is an anomaly. For instance:
Remember the year when I was asked to do the craft class? Well, by the time I reached December 19, I was done like last year's turkey. I had not only taught that class, but I had been involved in at least five major Christmas parties or productions. I had been responsible for planning these parties, and productions. The Christmas train I was was on, rolled through every stop without a break.
So when my husband casually said "So, are we going to get the Christmas tree today?" , it took everything in me not to collapse in a heap. I did manage a plaintive "Oh, we're not going to do that too are weeeee?".
O.k. it wasn't really plaintive, it was more of a groan tinged with just a smidgen of whine.
O.k. it wasn't a smidgen, it was a truckload of whine.
I did not want to add "DECORATE TREE" to my list of things to do that day. Or the next day. Or next year, judging by the way I was feeling.
My husband was nonplussed. He loves getting the Christmas tree. Loves, loves loves it. The "hunter and gatherer" inside of him gets revved up when the "Get the Christmas tree" day arrives.
He was all set. He had the coal oil lantern ready, the scarves and toques gathered, and the hot chocolate out of the cupboard ready to put into the mugs when we arrived home.
Curled up in the corner as I was, I can't rightly remember all that transpired in the conversation that followed, except that at the end of it, he got very frustrated with me. He left the toques and scarves, the lantern and the hot chocolate on the counter, and went out into our back forty (which, since we only lived on one acre, was more like the back two and half) and found an evergreen tree. I use the word in the most casual sense. The tree was more like a rogue branch that had grown up from these:
into this:
Its one branch was so long, that it hit the ceiling and then drooped over like this:
(without the ornament). With one fell swoop, my husband hacked that branch down and brought it into the house. "How's that" he said emphatically.
"THAT" was not the solution I asked for. However, it did bring me out of self pity long enough to burst into gales of laughter, trying to imagine decorating this pathetic excuse for the Christmas tree. "No, no, we can't have that one. That's completely ridiculous. Come on, we'll put on the toques and scarves and grab the lantern, and go and get a real tree. It will be fine. Trust me."
Now, my husband was completely confuzzled. The wife, who twenty three minutes earlier had been moaning about not wanting a tree, had her coat on, and the children in the vehicle, coaxing him into going and getting a real tree.
By this time, it was quite late in the day. The sun had set and the cold night air was kicking in. The children were young. [We had a 10 year old, an 8 year old and a 5 year old.] And they got chilled very quickly. Soon we were being treated to "I'm colllllldddddd" and "How long are we going to be out here?" and "I have to go to the bathroom." And that was all before one of them fell into the blackberries on the farmer's lot, and had to be rescued by their by-now-somewhat-exasperated father.
I don't think we tramped about much that night. We walked in, grabbed one of the first trees we saw, by the scruff of its branches and chopped it down. And brought it home. And decorated it. End of sentence. Oh, except that we did have hot chocolate to celebrate the rescuing of the "Oh Christmas tree" tradition And now, I have a good story to tell. Pass me a cold cloth.
You'd think all there is to getting the tree set up, is to cut it down, bring it home, and decorate it. A nice simple ending to a Christmas tradition, but somehow it never has been that way at our house.
In the twenty some years of our marriage, we have at least ten major stories about the tree. If one year has no story, it is an anomaly. For instance:
Remember the year when I was asked to do the craft class? Well, by the time I reached December 19, I was done like last year's turkey. I had not only taught that class, but I had been involved in at least five major Christmas parties or productions. I had been responsible for planning these parties, and productions. The Christmas train I was was on, rolled through every stop without a break.
So when my husband casually said "So, are we going to get the Christmas tree today?" , it took everything in me not to collapse in a heap. I did manage a plaintive "Oh, we're not going to do that too are weeeee?".
O.k. it wasn't really plaintive, it was more of a groan tinged with just a smidgen of whine.
O.k. it wasn't a smidgen, it was a truckload of whine.
I did not want to add "DECORATE TREE" to my list of things to do that day. Or the next day. Or next year, judging by the way I was feeling.
My husband was nonplussed. He loves getting the Christmas tree. Loves, loves loves it. The "hunter and gatherer" inside of him gets revved up when the "Get the Christmas tree" day arrives.
He was all set. He had the coal oil lantern ready, the scarves and toques gathered, and the hot chocolate out of the cupboard ready to put into the mugs when we arrived home.
Curled up in the corner as I was, I can't rightly remember all that transpired in the conversation that followed, except that at the end of it, he got very frustrated with me. He left the toques and scarves, the lantern and the hot chocolate on the counter, and went out into our back forty (which, since we only lived on one acre, was more like the back two and half) and found an evergreen tree. I use the word in the most casual sense. The tree was more like a rogue branch that had grown up from these:
into this:
Its one branch was so long, that it hit the ceiling and then drooped over like this:
(without the ornament). With one fell swoop, my husband hacked that branch down and brought it into the house. "How's that" he said emphatically.
"THAT" was not the solution I asked for. However, it did bring me out of self pity long enough to burst into gales of laughter, trying to imagine decorating this pathetic excuse for the Christmas tree. "No, no, we can't have that one. That's completely ridiculous. Come on, we'll put on the toques and scarves and grab the lantern, and go and get a real tree. It will be fine. Trust me."
Now, my husband was completely confuzzled. The wife, who twenty three minutes earlier had been moaning about not wanting a tree, had her coat on, and the children in the vehicle, coaxing him into going and getting a real tree.
By this time, it was quite late in the day. The sun had set and the cold night air was kicking in. The children were young. [We had a 10 year old, an 8 year old and a 5 year old.] And they got chilled very quickly. Soon we were being treated to "I'm colllllldddddd" and "How long are we going to be out here?" and "I have to go to the bathroom." And that was all before one of them fell into the blackberries on the farmer's lot, and had to be rescued by their by-now-somewhat-exasperated father.
I don't think we tramped about much that night. We walked in, grabbed one of the first trees we saw, by the scruff of its branches and chopped it down. And brought it home. And decorated it. End of sentence. Oh, except that we did have hot chocolate to celebrate the rescuing of the "Oh Christmas tree" tradition And now, I have a good story to tell. Pass me a cold cloth.
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