A White Christmas

This year, a first ever, I’ll be away for Christmas. A new tradition? We’ll see. Where better to get into the holiday spirit than snowy Oshkosh, Wisconsin. Yes, I have a son there – crazy people. It’s so beautiful out. I just took the dog for a walk. Him with his fur and me with mine. I guess God made snow to improve the naked scenery.

Before leaving Texas, I gave all my plants a drink of water, inside and out, turned the thermostat down to 60 (that’s as much as I dare), stopped my mail (mine and all those letters that seem to get haphazardly dumped in my box), told my neighbors of my plans, and locked up.

I’m almost as bad as my sister, Linda, packing everything, I’ve got clothes for all occasions, I-Pad that I haven’t used in months, books I’d like to read or finish, knitting, chargers, my Alaska boots, long johns – like my son’s family lives in a tent, mink slippers, money, glasses, credit cards, tooth brush & make up. Did I forget anything?

Brad and his family go to the tree farm and on a horse drawn sleigh they venture out to select the perfect Christmas tree and chop it down. It’s a long sacred tradition dating back to the beginning of time. Sort of like when our children were young & together they & their daddy would stealthily creep into a crowded forest aka a farmer’s field,  to make their selection. If I went, although I couldn’t see them because they would creep, way down low, through the dried up corn stalks. However, I would scan the horizon for that one evergreen that would wiggle and wobble until it disappeared from sight. Our youngest son, Michael, was the look out. Ever vigilant, scouring the entire area with unblinking eyes for that farmer or worse, the cops?

The last “natural” tree we had was when we lived on Amalia Island, Florida. The proud hunters came home with this thing they called a tree. There were only 3 sections attached to the sappy trunk, a bottom grouping of branches, a middle, and the top. I could have stuffed packages between the spaces. I tried to use the strands of lights to pull it up but it didn’t work. And then it died. Even the vacuum refused to pick up those prickly pine needles.

“Ok,” I said, “who forgot to water the tree?” Everyone pointed to someone else. However, it was the dog who got up with his ears drooping and a dribble of water clinging to the whiskers of his mouth, that left the room.