We purchased the Christmas tree yesterday, and had brief moments of happy family togetherness. Shown here are Nancy and I mimicking the photo pose of all local teenagers. If I am flashing a gang sign, it would be for a gang of slightly pudgy middle age white balding guys; The Caucasian Homeys. Although it looks it, I have not been shocked by a 5,000 volt cattle prod. This is, instead, comedy in its purest form. You have to admire my wife, caring for the mentally impaired the way she does.
In years past, we used to drive to approximately 17 different tree lots; a journey of nearly 8 hours and several hundred miles, as my lovely wife searched for the the elusive Christmas Tree of Perfection. The little girls loved this, coming home covered in pine tar and needles, hungry and cranky. After a period of years, Nancy learned that such a tree, was, in fact, not in existence. We have settled on the local YMCA tree lot; filled with good people, making money for local youth and sports programs. Good cause, good trees, two blocks from home, with minimal chance for the hugely embarrassing "tree falls off van" experience on the way home.
Following this, the tree is brought home, where is is carefully placed in the Heavy Tree Stand of Lead (the stand alone weighs several jillion kilotons). The placement of the tree in said stand involves trimming of the bottom of the tree with rusted clippers that barely cut, a rusty saw, and the removal of enough foliage to supply the Boy Scouts with enough material for about 37 additional wreaths. Our carbon footprint is huge.
After the tree is lowered in the Heavy Tree Stand of Lead, I typically spend about 45 minutes lying prone on the floor, advising family members to lean the tree 2 or 3 lineal millimeters one way or the other, in order to have the tree point in a near perfectly vertical position. I use a GPS device and a surveyor's transit, calculating the exact distance between our tree the North Pole. The finished coordinates are supplied to Santa directly. Perfection here is imperative. Sometimes, my assistant people randomly leave the room, and the faithful Labrador is my only friend, sitting next to me, in fear that The Guy Who Buys The Food may be dead.
Following the successful tree positioning maneuvers, my work here is done. The girls are in charge of decorating the tree.
I am in charge of movie watching, with the movie of choice always being the 1954 Christmas classic, "White Christmas". Ok, call me a sap, but I just love this movie. It reminds me of my father's generation, which, even though it elected Richard Nixon, sported double breasted suits, and smoked a heck of a lot, still had a lot of good characteristics, including decency, respect, love of country, and great dance numbers. I think General Waverly is a wonderful guy.
Strangely, my girls actually like to watch this movie. Must be the Irving Berlin compositions, and that boffo ending.
And that is a small slice of Christmas at our house.