Have you ever tried to decorate a scraggly "Charlie Brown" Christmas tree? I usually end up with one, the full, lush green ones already taken before I get around to buying ours.
It's really quite a challenge. If one can start with a stalk, three brownish branches haphazardly sticking from it, and somehow make it into something the Christmas Eve guests won't snicker at, one has accomplished an artistic feat of considerable merit.
After the "what an ugly tree" phase, I begin to feel compassion and I promise it a magnificent and regal send off to the "tree-house" in the sky.
First, it must go into the tree stand. It is always too thick. It must be cut off. The dull-bladed saw teeth catch in the trunk every other pass through. Why is nothing easy? I inevitably cut off too much. What began as a tallish hideous tree is now a short repulsive one. One either settles for that or goes out and buys a new tree.
Then it's never straight. It usually has a 45-degree crook in its middle. My very favorite part in all this is crawling under the tree (the needles from three branches can put out an eye just as effectively as twenty), unscrewing the screws of the tree stand, adjusting the trunk of the tree. You ask the kids if it's straight yet.
One says, "Yeah, it's pretty good."
One says, "Huh-uh."
Another says, "What an ugly tree!"
By this time, Scrooge has stiff competition. Bah humbug!
By now, the tree has fallen over twice and is secured to the window by wire, baling twine, a belt, or whatever happens to be handy.
Tree fairly straight. Now to distribute six strings of lights, five boxes of balls, Santas, snowmen, and bells on three scrawny branches, along with one star that won't fit over the three stupid prong-branches projecting out of the top of the tree.
"How come those lights are hanging in mid-air, Mom?"
"Because there are no more branches to hang them on."
"But it looks stupid, Mom!"
"Go to your room!"
Ever try to wire on extra branches in the bare spots? Fun, huh? Looking good, lights distributed; then, perfectly synchronized, the false branches all come loose, fall off completely, or point downward.
"Is the tree sad, Mom?"
"No, why?"
"'Cause its arms are drooping."
"It's just tired."
"Why is it tired, it just got here."
"Go to your room!"
One string of light won't work, bulbs tested and replaced, some tinsel here and there to disguise wide-open spaces.
"What's my giant snowman doing on the tree, Mom? He'll break it down."
(I hope it does!) "It's to cover up that hole where the branch fell off. Isn't he cute there?"
"Looks dumb, Mom."
"Go to your room!"
I've done the best I can; I'm weary, wondering why I perpetuate this hassle year after year. It's now twilight and tentatively I plug in the lights.
The kids have tiptoed down from their rooms. They gasp in delight as they peek around the doorway.
"It's beautiful, Mom! I can't even see the holes!"
"My snowman looks nice there."
"It's the prettiest tree we've ever had!"
Was that a wink from the center light of the star or just a defective bulb?
Oh, Tannenbaum, how lovely are your branches!
bj
12/18/1980
