YES, Christmas trees can be beautiful. And heartwarming. And everything else that Norman Rockwell could ask for in a holiday.
Right up to the moment where you actually try to put one up.
I think I am safe in saying that no Christmas tree setup ever goes completely as planned. There was my father-in-law, whose tree kept fainting until he tied it to a hook in the ceiling. Or my own parents, whose tree used to be raided by our cat in search of ornaments to swat and tinsel to chew.
And then there is us. This year, I think Heather and I were in a class by ourselves.
It seemed simple enough. Go to the shed, dig out the tree and decorations, take a box back to the house, nearly slip and kill myself on the ice ...
OK, I don’t think that part was in the plan.
Heather heard me shout as my balance wobbled, of course. Her response was instant. Heroically, she kept reading.
“I didn’t hear a thud or any packages falling, so I figured you must have been OK,” she said.
Thanks, honey.
With body unbroken and boxes intact, we broke out the Christmas tree. Piles of artificial pine branches soon covered the floor. Just one thing seemed to be missing.
“Do you know where the trunk is?” Heather asked.
“It’s not in the box?”
Nope. Belatedly, I remembered that we had not been able to get the metal pole apart last year. It wouldn’t fit in the box, so in my infinite wisdom I had stored it somewhere else.
You would think a six-foot artificial tree trunk wouldn’t be so hard to find. You would be wrong.
One trip to the shed and three closets later, the pole finally emerged. At last, the tree could be set up. Almost.
“Honey,” Heather called to me, “I think one of the branches is missing.”
Sure enough. Eight holes a-waiting. Seven branches sitting. And a nutcase by the pine tree.
While I began a hasty, unsuccessful search, Heather went back to work, spreading branches to cover the empty space . Soon our tree stood, a little gap-toothed but proud.
And it had a friend. Just a few feet away, mislabeled and in plain sight, sat our missing branch.
It was about that time that I decided our tree had been pre-owned by David Copperfield. Or maybe Harry Potter.
Naturally, the gap was on the lowest level. But after a quick rebuild, the tree was complete. The placing of the lights could begin.
You know the next part, don’t you?
The lights had burned out. That’s their job at Christmas. Each line is carefully pre-engineered to have the lifespan of a mayfly with the flu. That way, you can go out and share the Holiday Experience with 5,000 other crazed shoppers, some of whom have already started smashing their lights at the register, just to save time.
Yes, it was a long struggle. Our tree fought well. But at long last, we triumphed.
Lights gleamed. Beads shone. Ornaments from a dozen Christmas past hung from the branches as an angel sat high overhead, one wing slightly folded from its cardboard confinement.
It was a lot of work to create a little magic. But it was worth it. It always is at this time of year. There’s something special that happens at this season that no amount of stress or craziness can touch.
I resolved to remember the beauty. To remember the warmth.
And most of all, to remember where I put the tree next year.
Scott Rochat’s e-mail address is rochat@emporiagazette.com.