|
There's
something obscene about spending so much money at Christmastime.
It’s not like we’re the Three Wise Men hiking across the desert
to gift the baby Jesus. I don’t even know what frankincense is,
let alone myrrh. So let’s get down to the most important symbol
of all: the Christmas tree itself.
One long-ago year, my Dad was out of work, much as fathers are today,
but he was determined we'd have a tree just the same. All four of
us, Dad, Mom, my sister and I, went to McNally’s lot, the local
man who sold trees just once a year. We couldn’t afford any of his
big, beautiful trees. Then we sped the worst looking thing on the
entire lot. To have called it “scrawny” would’ve been a compliment.
It had a skinny trunk an 8-year-old could put her thumb and forefinger
completely around, and it had been deprived of all but about half
a dozen branches with needles. Besides all that, it tilted further
than the Tower of Pisa. My sister and I looked at each other in
teary dismay. We could never invite friends over this year.
Undaunted, Dad fished a quarter out of his pocket and bought it,
and for another dime, Mr. McNally sold him some loose boughs his
seasonal customers used for making wreaths for their doors. One
good thing about that tree was that it was the lightest one to carry.
Upon arrival home, Dad started to use his imagination, like Michelangelo
must have done when he looked up at the empty ceiling in the Sistine
Chapel.
Dad found the spot where the tree had started its downward tilt,
and sawed the trunk off just above that spot. When he finished,
the tree was straight, if much shorter. He then drilled holes here
and there on the rest of the trunk, filed the woody end of the extra
boughs into points, and pushed them into the holes. Mom looked on
approvingly, and my sister and I finally began to see the efficient
results of Dad’s Christmas Tree, Plan B. The crookedest tree on
McNally’s lot was beginning to look like a real Christmas tree after
all.
We couldn’t use strings of lights, for the wiring would be too much
weight for the fragile new branches to bear, so Mom had us get the
special box of burnished ornaments from the attic, the same ornaments
our paternal grandmother had brought when she emigrated from Germany,
and charged us with locating the smallest, lightest ones. Then,
ever so gently and very carefully, she hung these treasures from
the homemade boughs. We helped her finish the decorating job with
many strands of old tinsel, which reflected the light from a nearby
floor lamp, and glinted as though it had real lights on it.. That
little tree shone as beautifully as any of the big ones at McNally’s.
Due to the shortened height of our special tree that year, we didn't
need to be hoisted up on Dad's shoulders to place the traditional
angel at the very top. We just stood on tippy toes.
Each
year, New York’s Rockefeller Center features a magnificent tree
to be seen in person or on television. It's huge, gloriously resplendent
with color, and flashing lights.
But for us on a broke Christmas Eve, that short, scraggy, slanted
little tree was transformed before our very eyes into a beautiful,
straight, and shining example of what Christmas is really all about.
The moral of this story is that even though you don't trek through
starry nights to get to Baby Jesus, you can show your love by using
the gifts God gave you: creativity, imagination, and a set of Black
& Decker.
© Maggie
Van Ostrand
"A Balloon In Cactus"
November 21, 2009 column
Related Topics:
Christmas in
Texas
Texas Historic
Trees
|
HOME
