This being the month of December, I should probably tell you a Christmas Story, albeit not a typical one. This was written in 2007-ish when I first started at the writers' guild. This is a story of a newlywed couple's first outing together to get their Christmas tree, complete with disastrous results. In retrospect, I really should have taken a picture of every Christmas tree we've had since. Some have filled half the living room
Our First Christmas Tree
1989
My husband,
Mark, and I were still newlyweds when I became pregnant with our first child,
and by December of that year I was four months pregnant and very
noticeable. One cold and wintry day a
week before Christmas we traveled an hour away to a tree farm to buy our first
Christmas tree. I was so excited since
this was going to be my first real tree and I was anticipating the traditions
we would start as a family. Because it
was so late in the season there were many trees missing from the tree farm and
a snow storm the previous day covered all the ruts and stumps that were in the
field. My mother-in-law, bless her
heart, lent me the maternity coat she had worn with all her spring babies and I
could hardly refuse her generous offer.
This coat was from the 1950’s, hung down to my ankles, and was a color
that would soon come to be known as “harvest gold” on all 1970’s era
appliances. Together with the
multi-colored scarf Mark had lovingly wound around my face, neck and head that
day, I felt like an immigrant.
As soon as we arrived at the tree
farm I saw the perfect tree right in front of our parked car.
“Right there, Mark, it’s gorgeous!” I
excitedly shouted, “Get it!”. He turned and
gave me a look that I could only interpret as meaning “Are you kidding me? We only just arrived.” That would have
been way too easy. Mark wanted to
search; he enjoyed the hunt, and walked joyfully through the rows, up the
hills, and around the gullies with his tree saw, a rope, and a grin on his
face. He was reliving his childhood.
That left me to follow him, struggling with a large stomach, my head and
face wrapped like a mummy, and a coat that hung down to my ankles in the freezing
wind. Because the snow was blowing hard
and strong that day, every four or five steps saw me up to my knees in every
root hole and gully on that property.
I thanked God when Mark finally
found his perfect tree. At that point I didn’t care what it looked like and I
wasn’t going to argue about it. I was
pregnant, cranky, and tired from meandering all afternoon around that tree
farm. What I had anticipated as an
idyllic afternoon turned into an out-of-body experience; I desperately wished I
wasn’t there.
The tree was cut and strapped to the
top of the car and we left for the hour drive on the freeway not knowing that
we had to cover the tree to protect it. By the time we arrived home, our once green
tree had turned dirty gray. It was
covered with road salt.
“What happened?” I cried as I looked
at the tree. There was no way I was
going to let Mark put that filthy gray tree in our apartment. He had better do something and he’d better do
it fast. It was freezing outside. I looked at my husband for a solution. He felt the pressure.
“I’m thinking” Mark said as he surveyed his
prize. He walked around the tree, let out a big sigh,
then sent me into the apartment to thaw while he hosed the tree down in
twenty-three degree weather. How else
was he going to clean it? Unsurprisingly,
the tree completely froze. It stood
there in shock, covered head to trunk with ice crystals, glittering in the last
of the day’s light and softly tinkling like wind chimes in the biting
wind. The tree was glorious in the
fading light. It was a shame we had to bring it in to the warmth after that.
There was nothing to do but bring it in the kitchen, put papers under it, and
leave it to melt. And it did. The tree snapped, crackled, and dripped all
night long.
As
I sat on the couch listening to our first Christmas tree melting, I vowed never
to cut another living tree. I shook my
head. “I’m going to survive this” I silently told myself. “Next year will be different”. And indeed, it was.
