Sunday, December 8, 2013

Ahhh. The smell of Christmas.

It is that time of year again.  The time of year where the stench of parental despair is replaced with the fresh scent of pine.  That's right folks, it Christmas time.  Where we all (or most of us Christmas Purist) get a real tree and prop, or tether it to the nearest four walls, and hang some sentimental (or really gaudy) ornaments.  We string them with lights; white if you were born after 1980, or multi colored if you are real old skool and fill the rest of the decorating spaces within your abode with other holiday nick-nacks and chochkeys.  We use this time to tell our offspring about the sentimental meaning of each of the "Baby's First Christmas" or SnowBaby riding a Harley thing hanging from the shrubbery that was just savagely torn from its home (or picked up from the local garden store or volunteer fire department).

We set out this morning to "Free a Frasier Fur" from any disaster it would encounter in a field.  Now I am from the school of thought that a tree that is to be worshiped and glorified in the name of The Big Guy, it should be big and full.  We have had some very big and very full trees in the past.  Some to the point of blocking the television or taking up half of the living room.  Both were exceptional trees to me.  But last year my Christmas tree spirit was somewhat broken and we got a "normal" sized tree.  While it served it purpose, part of me felt a little empty inside.  I guess it was just a little too weird watching the mindless holiday television programming clearly, without a branch full of needles to block my view.  Where's the Christmas sprit in that?

Fast forward to the present, or at least earlier today.  We returned to the last year's massacre sight, but no trees were tall enough for us to free.  So on we went.  The next farm, or murder sight, was abound with tall and full trees, AND plenty of Emancipators of Pine.  After a lovely walk up a hill, dragging, nudging, and tugging the kiddo's we arrived at the frasier fur section.  Some nice.  Some not so much.  But there were a group of tallish ones in the back.  They looked perfect from afar.  But upon closer inspection there was a flaw.  These trees were on the roadside of the field which meant they were one-sided.   The Boss thought that fact was a deal breaker and wanted to move the hunt on.  I am a problem solver.  And I felt sorry for these trees.  Poor guys.  Just because of someone's ill thought out planting they would never be freed of the slavery that is the Christmas Tree Farm.  And since we put the slave, I mean tree in the corner, this little guy would be perfect.  My argument was immediately agreed upon.  (I finally won one.  In under an hour.  Something must be up.)  I think everyone's patience was running on E and hysteria was going to ensue very shortly.  Saw 'er down!  

I must have looked like a genius, or a complete dork, but I took the landscape trailer with us to get the tree.  Its small; 5x8.  Not like its a 12 footer or anything.  That would have been a little overkill.  Why lug it on the roof of the car when I can just throw it in the trailer?  And who cares anyway?  They are all just jealous of my problem solving skills.  I'm the man!

Set up tree.  Tether it to walls because I have a history of trees that like to be still until they are all decorated and then they revolt.  Decorate tree with a healthy mix of sentimental and gaudy, and do what has become a Hoehne tradition.  We turn off the lights in the house then me and the rug rats slide under the tree and gaze up at its beauty.  It may not sound like it, but the view is quite breathtaking.  Not Bo Derek breathtaking.  But breathtaking in the fact that you are sharing a moment with your kiddies.  Its a peaceful moment.  A peaceful moment.  It doesn't last that long but it was there.  Try it sometime.  You can even adopt our tradition as your own.  Do it just to savor the moment with your kids before they go back to maddening you beyond belief and before the stench of despair returns to your house.

Happy holidays.

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