Putting Up (with) the Tree...

Our Christmas tree is just perfect. We brought it in the house right after Thanksgiving and placed it in its cast iron stand—it stood straighter than a wooden soldier as it towered toward our 12-foot cathedral ceiling. Randy was beaming with gratitude just knowing that he got it straight the first time and wouldn't be crawling back underneath the thing while Abbey and I instructed him, "A little more to the left—no, that's too far—now more to the right—it's falling! DADDY! Be careful!" Putting up the Christmas tree is number one on Randy's list of deplorable tasks, but this year it fell to number ten. Even the lights went on with ease and we didn't break a single glass ornament.

We've had our tree up for quite some time now, and I am happy to report that it hasn't needed any water. This is a good thing. I've never liked lying on my stomach beneath an evergreen tree while holding a pitcher full of warm water sideways. It's very difficult for me to pour the water into the stand without bumping my head or my elbow on the tree's low laying branches. And always the water spills, soaking the carpet, seeping into my sweater, and making what should be a simple task an unnatural disaster. And the dog is always there, sniffing my skirt, pulling my sweater, and trying to drink the spilled water—really just making a general nuisance of himself.

Even if I do manage to give our tree a drink, it never seems to help the poor thing. Its needles fall like rain with the slightest movement. They're dry, they're sharp, and they can poke holes in just about everything they make contact with—including feet. And they're everywhere—all the time. They show up in January, February, March, April, and May. I've found them in the cushions of our sofa in August and September. And just when the house seems to be rid of the remnants from the last year's Christmas tree, it's time to put up another one!

But that's okay—because this year's tree hasn’t shed a single needle. It's standing content, displaying our twenty-seven years’ worth of sentimental ornaments and looking majestically beautiful. It twinkles brilliantly with hundreds of white lights, illuminating our entire first floor. Like I said, it’s perfect—perfectly artificial. And guess what? I love it! That’s just the way it is.