When good Christmas trees go bad
I should have known my Christmas tree was possessed from the beginning.
We moved into our house in April of 2003. When the Christmas season rolled around, I turned the place upside down looking for our artificial tree (I have kids with allergies to trees). It was nowhere to be found. I blamed my husband, of course. Everyone knows when something that major is lost in a move, it’s the man’s fault. Anyway, it was nearly the middle of December so we were going to have to buy a new one.
I remember the first time I saw the new tree standing there, unique amongst its pseudo-evergreen brethren, proud and tall. Sure, there were other pre-lit trees on the Walmart garden center floor, but this one had big light balls mixed in with the little twinkle lights. This one seemed to say, “Take me home; I’m the only one that will do.” Then I’m pretty sure it winked at me.
The Walmart lady showed us where the boxed trees were. There were scads of them, but there was only one left with the big light balls. I heard the faint sound of laughter as we loaded our purchase into the car, but shook it off.
That first year wasn’t so bad. The worst part was screwing in all those light balls; and the fact that the thing came in four sections -- with each section plugging into a very specific piece of the next section. It only fell on me once.
The next year, 2004, I couldn’t find the instructions. No problem, every cord was numbered. I just had to find the corresponding plugs. Except the sections didn’t want to slide into each other the way they were supposed to. I had to maneuver each piece to fit, and then the cords didn’t reach the plugs, so I had to maneuver them again… and again.
I went out to the garage to take a cigarette break (this was a smoking time in my life, understandably – see Thanksgiving post). A few gifts were still in the car, so I decided to put them in the attic while I was out there. I had the cigarette hanging out of the corner of my mouth, a pretty large gift under one arm, and the attic door rope in my other hand. I tugged on the rope. The ladder didn’t quite make it, so I tugged again. That sucker came swinging down like a guillotine. The time/space continuum slowed to a crawl as I watched the ladder head straight for my head, smashing me. After the blinding pain subsided to an aching throb, I climbed the ladder steps with the stupid gift. And there sat my old Christmas tree, exactly where it had been placed a year and a half before.
I marched back into the house and faced the half assembled light-ball tree, which stood there and looked at me like, “What?”
It took me six hours to finish putting the thing together and it fell on me twice.
This year my plan of attack was to assemble the monster one section at a time, light balls and all. The first piece fit beautifully into the stand and the lights were no problem. The next section fit great, too; I reached in to plug the cord. When I pulled my arm out, I thought I must have rubbed against something in the tree with paint on it, because from my wrist to inner elbow were ribbons of red. It took a full minute before I realized it was blood. Very bright red blood and lots of it. I stuck a band-aid on and went back for more. The kids were screwing in the light balls. I started to help, but none of the balls I screwed in would light. My eight year-old son had to go behind me and re-do them all. Then the top section didn’t want to go in, and after it did, the tree was crooked. I grabbed it to try to shake it straight and knocked half the ornaments off. The kids rolled their eyes and put them back on. But, we now have a fully assembled, slightly crooked tree.
And I sleep with one eye open.
We moved into our house in April of 2003. When the Christmas season rolled around, I turned the place upside down looking for our artificial tree (I have kids with allergies to trees). It was nowhere to be found. I blamed my husband, of course. Everyone knows when something that major is lost in a move, it’s the man’s fault. Anyway, it was nearly the middle of December so we were going to have to buy a new one.
I remember the first time I saw the new tree standing there, unique amongst its pseudo-evergreen brethren, proud and tall. Sure, there were other pre-lit trees on the Walmart garden center floor, but this one had big light balls mixed in with the little twinkle lights. This one seemed to say, “Take me home; I’m the only one that will do.” Then I’m pretty sure it winked at me.
The Walmart lady showed us where the boxed trees were. There were scads of them, but there was only one left with the big light balls. I heard the faint sound of laughter as we loaded our purchase into the car, but shook it off.
That first year wasn’t so bad. The worst part was screwing in all those light balls; and the fact that the thing came in four sections -- with each section plugging into a very specific piece of the next section. It only fell on me once.
The next year, 2004, I couldn’t find the instructions. No problem, every cord was numbered. I just had to find the corresponding plugs. Except the sections didn’t want to slide into each other the way they were supposed to. I had to maneuver each piece to fit, and then the cords didn’t reach the plugs, so I had to maneuver them again… and again.
I went out to the garage to take a cigarette break (this was a smoking time in my life, understandably – see Thanksgiving post). A few gifts were still in the car, so I decided to put them in the attic while I was out there. I had the cigarette hanging out of the corner of my mouth, a pretty large gift under one arm, and the attic door rope in my other hand. I tugged on the rope. The ladder didn’t quite make it, so I tugged again. That sucker came swinging down like a guillotine. The time/space continuum slowed to a crawl as I watched the ladder head straight for my head, smashing me. After the blinding pain subsided to an aching throb, I climbed the ladder steps with the stupid gift. And there sat my old Christmas tree, exactly where it had been placed a year and a half before.
I marched back into the house and faced the half assembled light-ball tree, which stood there and looked at me like, “What?”
It took me six hours to finish putting the thing together and it fell on me twice.
This year my plan of attack was to assemble the monster one section at a time, light balls and all. The first piece fit beautifully into the stand and the lights were no problem. The next section fit great, too; I reached in to plug the cord. When I pulled my arm out, I thought I must have rubbed against something in the tree with paint on it, because from my wrist to inner elbow were ribbons of red. It took a full minute before I realized it was blood. Very bright red blood and lots of it. I stuck a band-aid on and went back for more. The kids were screwing in the light balls. I started to help, but none of the balls I screwed in would light. My eight year-old son had to go behind me and re-do them all. Then the top section didn’t want to go in, and after it did, the tree was crooked. I grabbed it to try to shake it straight and knocked half the ornaments off. The kids rolled their eyes and put them back on. But, we now have a fully assembled, slightly crooked tree.
And I sleep with one eye open.
posted by Cas at 12:48 AM
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