Aw, the poor tree! At least you gave it a good burial rather than a cremation.
layful:
When I was a kid Mom and Dad took care of the tree-procuring, of course. When I moved out on my own at 18 I wasn't celebrating Christmas, so for ten years I went without a tree.
No great loss for me.
Then I got married to a lady who loved holidays, especially Christmas. We started off doing the parking-lot thing, too. Nice and easy-peasy. Give the guy money, he throws the tree on the car and off you go. Get home, unwrap it, smack the cats a few times when they climb up it and you're done.
Then we had kids. So now we had to expose our offspring to the true wonder of the holiday season - the traditional Chopping Down Of The Living Tree, AKA Woodlands Murder.
Picture this 30-year-old guy who has never chopped down a tree in his life, going to this special tree farm an hour away, armed only with a rusty carpenter's saw and a pocketknife. You'll get an idea of what happened next ...
Of course it had snowed the night before. Of course it was raining / snowing now. Of course the four-wheel-drive was popping in and out in the Jeep, and of course the wife was chattering away about the beautiful tree we'd have this year while I fought to re-gain control of the Jeep before we plunged over the 1,800-foot drop.
Junior was snoring away in the back in his car seat, dreaming of who-knows-what one-year-olds dream of.
It isn't as if my son would remember this trip. I suspect that kids that age are like goldfish - they have 20-second memories. So with what followed, that's probably a good thing. We got to the farm, bundled up our little guppy (still sleeping) and trundled into the wet, soggy farm to find "that special tree".
"Special tree", Hell! THEY ALL LOOK THE SAME TO ME! But not to wifey - "Oh, no, that one is thin on top", or "No, sweetie - that one is bare on the one side".
After an hour, during which time Junior woke up and was gazing around with wide eyes, doubtless thinking we were going to leave him for the wolves, we (I mean Wifey) found the "perfect tree". I'd like to say there was a halo above it and we heard angels singing, but I'd be lying.
I laid down on the sopping-wet muddy ground, instantly being sucked into it like quicksand. My entire back and butt were glued to the muck, making obscene sucking noises every time I shifted position. There I was, hacking away at the poor tree with my trusty, rusty (and very flexible) saw, gruntiing and spitting out muddy epithets.
Of course it was at this exact time that Junior started crying and Wifey said "... well, wait, maybe that one over there is better ..."
This is just ONE of the reasons I believe in capital punishment.
I managed to convince her, using my mud-covered charm, that this tree that I was half-done hacking through was "the One". I got to the last half-inch, extracted myself from the Superglue-like terrain, pushed the tree and said "Tiiiimmmmbeeeeeerrrrrr!"
Nothing happened. "Timberrrrr!" Nada. "TIMBER, DAMN YOU!" Still nothing. Junior is still screaming, the mud is now inside my jeans and the wife is giving me "The Look". I side-kick that sucker and it crashes down, causing Junior to increase even more his ghoulish screams, simultaneously filling his diaper.
I have sap in my eye. I start blinking, but the lid glues itself shut.
Then we (meaning "I") have to drag the tree UP the hill that we previously walked DOWN. Hadn't thought about that before ... we finally arrive at the cashier, my sweat-streaked muddy face looking like a demonic Al Jolson, my eye still glued shut and frozen snot sticking to my mustache. The temperature has dropped and now there are icicles falling from the skies.
I actually toss the wrapped tree on top of the Jeep's luggage rack on the first try. I get in and start the Jeep, realizing as I do that everything I'm touching is becoming covered in sap. My hands stick to the leather-wrapped wheel all the way home, my pirate-eye starting to throb and the frozen mud in my pants now beginning to thaw from the Jeep's heater.
We get home and I put the tree in it's stand. There are now various and sundry objects sticking to me - an envelope, a screwdriver, the cat - because I'm covered in warm, sticky sap. I schtup my way upstairs, sticking to the handrail as I go, and fall into the shower.
Merry Christmas to all!