Christmas Tree

We put up our Christmas tree last night. By “we” I mean, of course, my wife. For our nearly 25 years of marriage, the putting up of the Christmas was more or less a family affair. When the kids were still living with us, we would all head out to the tree lot to find the just perfect tree. (One year we actually went to a tree farm in the fall, marked our tree, and then returned a couple of weeks before Christmas to cut it and transport it back to our house. Why we only did that once I don’t recall, though I imagine it had to do with differences of opinion, cursing, and threats of an angry Santa.) When the kids were gone, my wife and I continued to share the responsibility of selecting the perfect (at least on the lot) tree. But once home, our responsibilities diverged: I was the one who would haul the tree from the car into the house, saw off the trunk and trim the lower branches to fit the stand, position in the house (floor or table), and string the lights aesthetically around the outer branches. My wife would clear the corner or table for the tree, hold the door as I brought the tree in, retreat to some distant vestibule as I struggled and sweat and cursed to fit the tree in the stand as straight as a crooked trunk could be, and then return to adorn the tannenbaum with the mass of ornaments, mostly personal, not commercial, we’ve collected over the decades. And I would offer encouragement, sitting in my chair, drinking a beer.

Three years ago, we entered a new, more enlightened era – we bought an artificial tree. By “we” I mean, of course, I. What a revelation! No more traipsing through the frigid night of the Christmas tree lot, no more hauling the tree in from the car, sawing off the trunk, trimming the limbs, muscling it into the stand, trying to get it straight. Note that all of these tasks were mine before. Now all that’s left to me is the stringing of the lights, offering encouragement, and drinking beer. And last year I had the brilliant idea of just leaving the string on lights on the tree – no reason to take them off – so my only obligation to the ritual (though the residue of the tradition remains) is to drag the tree down from the attic and place it on the table. And have a beer.

O Christmas Tree! O Christmas Tree!
Thy leaves are so unchanging!