I love the Christmas season. I love the music, I love the decorations, I love giving gifts. I just love it all! Around our house there is either Christmas music playing or Christmas movies showing on the television. I decorate the whole house and I put up five Christmas trees (well, this year I only put up two).
However, there is one thing I'm not allowed to do. I am not allowed to go to the tree farm and pick out the tree. When the boys were smaller, we would take a day, bundle up and go walking through all the pine trees until we found the perfect tree. It was a family affair with Tim leading the way. We didn't chop it down, we had it dug up and then we would plant it on our property as a reminder of one more Christmas together.
One particular year, I was chosen, because of schedules, to go pick out the tree. My daughter, Betty volunteered to go with me, so we set out with our mittens and knitted caps to find the most beautiful tree. We tramped through rows of trees for quite awhile until we spotted it. There it was, in all it's glory! Our Christmas tree!
We tied the ribbon around it so the men could go dig it up and we would go pick it up later. We were quite impressed with ourselves for finding such a beautiful tree and couldn't wait to see it decorated in all it's splendor.
A couple of days later, I got the call. "Mrs. Workman, your tree is ready." So, off I went in our truck to pick up our new baby. When I got to the shop and told them who I was I got some smiles and strange looks. Hmm, wonder what that's all about?? They told me where to go, so I went outside and saw five men gathered round a root ball the size of Mt. Everest.
Okay, in my defense, when you're out in a field of trees, all the root balls are underground and the size of the tree can be very decieving.
After much straining and grunting, the five men got my tree loaded, so off I drove with half of an enormous tree hanging out the back of my truck and my back tires squatting. I'm still telling myself "It's really not that big."
When Tim gets home and I meet him at the door, he doesn't give me the regular smile and hug, along with "how was your day". Instead, his face had a look of wonder on it. I was sure he was very proud of me for picking such a beautiful tree....well....until his face got all red and he said, "WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THAT THING!!"
So, we went about preparing to get the tree in the house, but instead of five grown men to unload it, there was a dad, who had a glazed look in his eye, a teenage son and me.
Backing the truck up to the steps...no problem. Getting it out onto the step...well, not easy, but we got it done. Getting it up to the next step...impossible. After straining, pulled muscles, grumbling, and red faces, it wouldn't budge. That's when someone (not me) decided we could use a jack to jack it up high enough to get to the next step. We will not be defeated!! After three hours, we had it up two steps.
I was asked to get out of the way (in not a very nice tone, might I add) and do something else, like cheering them on. Okay, I can do that. Afterall, I was a cheerleader all through my school years. No problem.
So, here we go...grunt, grunt, strain, strain, clap, clap. While they were straining, I was giving them the best cheers I could remember from high school, like, "Tim, Tim, he's my man, if he can't do it, nobody can!"
Finally! It's on the porch! Personally, I think it was due to my cheers, but I'll let them think they did it all by themselves. After we drag it through the house and into our living room (thank goodness for cathedral ceilings!), I began to appreciate how big that thing was.
We always set our trees in a wash tub, so as they leaned the tree over, I scooted the tub up under the root ball, they straightened the tree up and squashed the tub flat. We had to get a bigger tub.
It took lots of decorations, a couple of ladders, and quite a bit of time, it was done. That is, except for the final touch...the angel. So, as the drum roll begins, I go upstairs and reach over the balcony to place the angel on the top of the tree. It was easy, seeing as though I was eye level with the top of the tree from upstairs.
There it sat. Right in the middle of our living room. You had to sit around it, walk around it, and watch tv through the branches, but it was beautiful.
Getting it out was so much quicker. Dig the hole, back the truck up to the porch, attach chain to truck, attach chain to tree, and drive. There went our tree zipping through the house, bam, bam, bam, down the steps, struggling through the front yard, leaving a small trench behind it, drive over the hole and thump. There sat our tree in the hole.
So, you see, I'm allowed to decorate all over the place, I'm allowed to have boxes and boxes of decorations, but there's only one tiny, little thing I'm not allowed to do...pick out the tree.
