Please welcome Cheryl Shireman to the NINE DAY! Be sure to leave a comment to be eligible to win an ecopy of Cheryl's novel, COPPER MOON! The winner will be announced at the end of tomorrow's blog.
Christmas Tree Sap
We crunch through the gas station parking lot,
circling the various spruce and pine trees that they have trucked in to sell.
It is Saturday morning and everyone in Northern Indiana seems to be intent on
buying a tree on that particular day. My Dad is a long-distance truck driver.
If we don’t buy a tree today, I know we won’t shop again until next weekend
because he has a load ready to take to Shreveport. I am optimistic. We will
find a tree today and it will be perfect!
We weave through the trees, looking for our tree.
My dad smokes a Lucky Strike and wears his “funk cap,” a black hat made of fake
leather and fake fur. It can be worn with the flaps pulled down over your ears,
or with the flaps snapped up over the top of the hat. On this day, like most
days, the flaps are up. For the rest of my life, when I see a hat of this type,
I will think of it as a funk cap. I have no idea where that particular nickname
came from, and it will not be until 2012 that I realize these hats are called
trapper hats.
My mom wears the lightest of coats, unzipped, but
pulled together to ward off the cold morning chill. She wears a pair of
inexpensive vinyl slip on shoes she bought from G.L. Perry, no socks. To this
day, I have never seen my mother wear socks. Or gloves. She always seems cold.
Bursting with holiday excitement, I bounce from
tree to tree. “How about this one? This one looks good! Look at this one!” I am
intent on taking a tree home, certain that we must buy a tree today. If we wait
until next Saturday, all of the good ones will be taken. Or, worse yet, all of
the trees will be gone! It is a recurring theme in my life.
My parents ignore me, probably knowing I just want
a tree - any tree! I have very little discernment and am filled with a sense of
urgency. My dad suggests driving to another gas station that might be selling
trees. I immediately begin praising the closest tree. “This one is beautiful!
It’s perfect! Look at this one!”
My dad pulls it away from the other trees for a
better look. “It’s not bad,” he concedes.
My mother walks around the tree. “There’s a big
hole in the back.”
“We could put the bad side toward the wall,” I
offer. We always put the bad side toward the wall; so really, the tree only has
to look good on one side.
My mom shakes her head. “No.” She always has final
say on the trees. Which is probably a good thing. One year me and my dad went
by ourselves to get the tree and came home with a tree only Charlie Brown could
love.
We briefly look at a couple more trees and then my
dad says the dreaded words, “Let’s go someplace else.”
Despondent, I move back toward the car, certain
that we are making a huge mistake. I glance over my shoulder, silently
apologizing to the trees that we will not take home. I wonder what happens to
the trees that do not find their way into a house. I think about asking my dad,
but keep quiet, deciding I’d rather not know. Before we pull out of the gas
station I am hopeful again. We are onto another group of trees. Surely, we will
find a tree today.
We decide on a chubby little tree at the next gas
station. Riding home in the car, I am already imagining draping silver icicles over
the branches.
My mom retrieves the metal Christmas tree holder
out of the garage. My father trims some of the lower branches on the tree so
there will be room for presents. He wrestles the tree into the metal holder, twisting
the screws into the trunk to secure the tree. Invariably, every year, he will
adjust the tree several times as my mother tells him, “It’s still crooked.”
Eventually they will realize the trunk of the tree is crooked and settle for a
slightly titled tree. He fills the tree holder with water and we all stand back
to look at the tree, only slightly disheartened. It seems so much bigger in the
house. It almost touches a chair on one side and blocks half of the television
screen, depending on where you are sitting. It also blocks the only window in
the living room.
Soon, we accept reality. It won’t be in the living
room that long, and once we get the decorations on, you won’t even notice the
lean. We spend the next hour putting lights and decorations on the tree. The
lights are the big bulbs that used to be on trees years ago. We won’t plug them
in until we are all done decorating because they get so hot they can burn your
arm if you brush up against them. We use an assortment of ornaments; mostly
glass ones that we have had for years. Almost every year one is dropped and
broken. The remaining ornaments are a bit worse for wear, many of them
scratched and faded from years of use.
I jump the gun and start draping the silver icicles
on the tips of the branches before all of the ornaments are on the tree. It is
a greedy move, but like I said, the icicles are my favorite part. I scoop the
icicles that fall onto the floor, careful to use every one. My dad puts the
star on top and then plugs in the lights. We stand back, the three of us, this
little family, and survey the results. The tree is beautiful. A little crooked,
donning tacky silver icicles and scratched ornaments, but truly beautiful.
Day by day, the presents will slowly appear under
the tree, each adding a bit more joy. On Christmas morning I will wake extra
early and rush out to the living room to find more presents from Santa. We will
spend Christmas morning opening gifts next to the crooked little tree and it
will be a perfect morning. So full of love and joy that you couldn’t squeeze in
one more ounce.
When I have kids, we will continue the tradition, all
of us decorating the tree together, all of us gathering around the tree to open
presents.
Now, as I write this, my children are all grown
and married. My husband and I live in an empty nest. This cold December morning
I am working from our family room in the basement. I can see a Christmas tree.
It is not a “real” tree. I gave up real Christmas trees very soon after I was
first married. I hated the sap. I hated the pine needles that always got stuck
in my socks. But, most of all, I hated the sight of that Christmas tree lying
next to the road on trash day. It seemed so cold - just discarding the tree
like that after it had served us so well. So, I switched to artificial trees.
From where I write (while The Christmas Story
plays on the television), I can see the Red Tree. It is decorated with red and
white ornaments and assorted Rudolph-themed figures. Upstairs, on the main
floor, there is a twelve-foot Gold and White tree. In the dining room is the
Green Tree. The Blue Tree is on the second floor. All of the trees are full
sized (or bigger!). A small tree is on my kitchen counter, another small tree
sits next to our living room fireplace.
If you are counting, that is six Christmas trees.
My husband shakes his head in disgust, certain I am a Christmas tree hoarder. I
might be.
I’m not quite sure why, but I love Christmas
trees. Just walking through the Christmas section of a store can bring tears to
my eyes. More than once, my husband has commented, “You’re such a sap.”
A couple of weeks ago I took my three-year-old
granddaughter Christmas shopping. We bought Christmas presents for her parents.
We also bought one more thing. Her first Christmas tree. She picked it out
herself and chose pink ornaments to decorate it. It is a little taller than her
and she loves it. I have a picture of her hugging the tree. Priceless.
Together, we decorated her tree. So, now I have seven trees in my house. When
she gets older, I will give the tree to her to take to her college dorm or
apartment. I hope she will remember decorating it with me. I hope she will keep
those memories in a special place where they will never fade. A place where
Christmas is always only a few days away, presents are waiting to be opened,
and family is near.
Do you have a Christmas tree tradition?
Website http://cherylshireman.com/
Twitter https://twitter.com/cherylshireman
Cheryl is currently working on the Cooper Moon
series of novels (there is a Christmas tree scene in the second book of the
series!).
Cooper Moon: The Calling link - http://www.amazon.com/Cooper-Moon-The-Calling-Volume/dp/1478153652
Tonya, What a charming post. It is bursting with holiday spirit.
ReplyDeletePS... I am crazy about the Cooper Moon series.
Thank you both.
Merry Christmas!
Happy Holidays!
Thanks so much for stopping by, Barbara. I am glad you are enjoying the series. I love writing them!
DeleteMerry Christmas!
What a treat! I love the Cooper Moon series too!!
DeleteGreat story! I've always been very picky about my tree.
ReplyDeleteI am more picky now that I used to be. When my kids were little they always "helped" to decorate the tree/s and we always had just a few more decorations on the bottom of the tree where they could easily reach. Ha!
DeleteThanks for stopping by to comment, Jean!
Jean, me too! This is the first year that we didn't have a real tree! There were a lot of things that lead up to it, like my husband getting sick on Thanksgiving and both my dogs which lead to a lot of carpet cleaning. So Thanksgiving night, while my guys and I were gone to family and my hubby was home sick, he ripped up the carpet! A week later, he started to put down hardwood floors. . .three weeks before CHRISTMAS!!! So....I got a fake tree in a pinch. In the end it all worked out :)
DeleteOur tradition for our Christmas tree tree started 16 years ago. Eric, Noelle and I had just moved in with my dad. Noelle's 1st birthday was just before Christmas and my dad sho was never into Chtistmas insisted on getting Noelle a Christnas Tree for her 1st birthday. It's not the biggest tree but it means the most. My dad died 4 years later never getting to meet Hollie or Merrie, they know my dad by the Christmas tree.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful gift your dad left to his grandchildren. I love that story. Thanks so much for sharing it, Jill.
DeleteThat is a wonderful story, Jill!
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ReplyDelete