Well, here we are, Sunday morning, five shopping days left. It's
a bright, crisp, cool morning and the squirrels are doing their high-wire
act on the power lines, much to the consternation of the passerby
lady walking her dog, which suddenly starts barking at the sky.
I bought our tree yesterday at the local grocery market, and a nice,
graceful thing it is. They cut the tree trunks off at an angle, so
you have to buy a stand, and for years I resisted this. Last year I
put together my own wooden stand out of scrap 1x6 and the biggest-ass
nail you ever saw. I have a big ol' pruning saw that makes short work
of off-square trunks, but, you know what, this year I just got tired
of scouring the pine sap off my hands.
Gloves, you are wondering, doesn't he have the brains to put on a
pair of gloves? We have a pair of Wells-Lamonts out in the garage somewhere.
After a year or so, when you have picked a pair of these beauties up,
you always have to wonder who on earth managed to wear them to clean
out a kennel.
Besides, wearing gloves while working with tools has always struck
me as dangerous, like working on high voltage circuits while wearing
a grounding strap. In my experience, bare hands are often the first
and last warning we are going to get that our flesh is about to be
ripped deeply and to shreds. And you would take your watch to a repairman
who wears mittens?
So out I went again, to Target, and bought their next-to-last tree
A wonderful thing that stand is, all shiny green plastic, with six
turnscrews, "straightens even the most crooked Christmas tree" --
with horrid little L-angles for tightening which cut into your fingers
cruelly before they even contact the wood. "Real men just don't
wear gloves, Mom".
And this stand has a water reservoir that holds perhaps two cups, "do
not overfill past the screw holes or some amount of leakage may occur".
I of course am grateful that I was able to find a stand at all this
late in the season, even if you have to check and replenish the water
supply once or twice a day.
So now the house smells like Christmas Tree, and the master mechanic
awaits Bob's return to decorate and hang the ornaments. It's Sunday
morning. Let the festivities begin.
© Alex Forbes, December