The Tree

It's the earliest I've ever done it, I think.

I remember the old man waiting until at least the first weekend in December. When we'd venture to some nearby center of botany. A nursery or some such place. Where the pine trees leaned against wooden planks. The old man would stick his hand into the center of the tree and pull it back towards him. Checking for dead spots. Shaking it a little to ensure that there weren't too many needles falling. Feeling the amount of sap leaking from the tree's pores. We'd have it wrapped and then we'd stuff it into his minivan to be brought home and into the living room. He'd trim. And wrap the lights around. All by his lonesome. The area surrounding the tree became his area into which you had to be invited. To hang the ornaments. To find the pickle. To gaze at the village.

Joseph and I tried a real tree our first Christmas together. We brought it into the apartment and set it in front of the window. The same window out of which I leaned to save that darn cat. We'd water the tree religiously. We even gave the tree some nutrients or some such thing. And then it began to die. Yet, it was sucking the water dry every day. We couldn't explain it. Until we found that the cats' water bowl always seemed to be full. They were drinking the water. And the tree was dying. By Christmas, we had a Charlie Brown tree.

We therefore turned to the fake tree the second year. And we've had it ever since. It is, in fact, the same tree we set up this very evening. Connected the base to the center pole. Then attached all the branches. Wrapped the lights. Not so sticky. Nor so pointy.

But it's not just about the tree. It's about laying the plywood beneath the tree. That story's to come. It's about the ambience. A glass of egg nog - spiced up with a tad bit of rum - topped with nutmeg and cinnamon. Danny and Bing dancing and crooning. Charlie Brown exclaiming 'Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?' And then finally, some story about a kid wanting a an official Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifle (BB Gun) with a compass in the stock, and this thing which tells time.

I'm finishing the nog. Listening to Ralphie's rather tasty description of Palmolive soap. And readying for peaceful slumber. I was initially resistant to setting up so early. But with everything happening in my life, I can use a bit of the Christmas spirit.