Ghosts of Christmas' Past

Some of you may know that I am a full-time college student. And that, my friends, is the reason I have not had time to write lately!

Math was not my best subject in high school, nor is it in college. I had to take two remedial math classes to prepare myself for College Algebra; and those two classes have required many, many hours of study, with quite a bit of despair, hair-pulling, and talking to myself thrown in. I am pleased to say I passed them both with an A, but it about killed me. I took my last final on Monday, and I am done with studying until January.

It seems I've been so busy that I just looked up and realized it is almost Christmas! This year, we welcome the newest member to our family tree, a little acorn that made her entrance about six weeks early, but she is now home and thriving, so there is much to be thankful for. So now I can sit a minute and let my mind wander back over the years and revisit some of my Christmases Past.

One of the fondest Christmas memories of my childhood was going with my dad to look for a Christmas tree. He would keep his eyes open all year long for likely candidates, cedar trees growing here and there on our property, and a couple of weeks before Christmas we would load up in the truck, or sometimes the tractor if we were heading for rough terrain, and start out. Sometimes, the one he had his eye on would not meet with my approval and we would move on to the next one. It had to be just right to pass my inspection. Not too tall, or too short, it had to be nice and green and the needles had to be soft and pliable, not dry. And no "Charlie Brown" trees either. I wanted one nice and full. As soon as I gave the nod, out would come the ax and the tree would be loaded up. Back to the house and into a bucket full of rocks or sand, because we didn't have anything so fancy as a tree stand. Daddy would wrestle the tree into the house into the corner mom had cleared out and the heavenly scent of fresh-cut cedar would fill the house. Then Mom would bring out the ornament box, and I would decorate the tree while she made a batch of home-made fudge and "A Christmas Carol" played on TV. The only way it could have been more perfect was if it would have started snowing, but alas that didn't happen very often.

Now I have a few other Christmas memories, but this is where the needle on the record playing "White Christmas" makes that sound like nails on a blackboard and the song changes to "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer."

One very cold December when my kids were young, we had been to Mom and Dad's on Christmas Eve and had a wonderful time, a great dinner, and were loading up the car to head back home. We were just getting the kids packed in amongst all the toys, when BOOM! An explosion rent the night and we all hit the ground like seasoned combat veterans. Out of the corner of my very wide eyes, I saw the heavy lid to the well-house rise straight up in the air about six feet and then crash straight back down. Chaos ensued, with kids and dogs running amok, trailing ribbon, tissue paper, and my mother, until we herded everyone back into the house and determined what had happened. Seems my dad had put a little propane heater in the well-house to keep the pump from freezing.

Evidently, the flame had gone out, but the propane continued to issue forth from the tank, and when the pump kicked on, it sparked, and "Kablooey!" Now, if looks could kill, my mom would have been guilty of murdering numerous people throughout her lifetime (mostly my father), and this night I was very surprised that my dad continued to breathe.

She didn't often berate with words; she didn't have to. Her looks could speak a thousand of them and sometimes they fairly screamed. This was such a night!

Later, we all had a good laugh and we remember this Christmas as "The Year Daddy Blew Up the Well-house."

A few years down the road, we have continued the tradition of cutting a live tree, although they have become increasingly hard to find on my dad's land. Now the kids also participate in the search and seem to enjoy it like I used to. This year we had the tree up and decorated for a week or two when I noticed it was losing needles. I would walk by and in the scant breeze from my passing, needles would sprinkle to the packages beneath. Pretty soon, it was an all-out shower. I had kept the tree watered but, evidently, it had not been very healthy when it was cut and now was so dry no one could touch it without causing a few more branches to drop everything they had. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore; and a couple days before Christmas, I undecorated it and got it out of the house. Now we had always heard about how flammable dry evergreens are, so my husband thought to make an impression on the kids and decided to demonstrate. With the tree laying in our driveway, he strikes a match and says "watch this." He throws the match on the tree and with a huge whoosh, flames shoot higher than the house. The tree is instantly consumed, and we all jump back in shock and awe! All that is left is a bare, smoldering twig, with tendrils of smoke curling up from the blackened branches.

The boys thought it incredibly awesome, even though my husband and I were both a bit surprised at just how volatile the thing was. I was very glad I had gotten it out of my house. But, I just couldn't help thinking what the people driving by on the road were saying to each other.

"Look Fred, those people just set fire to their Christmas Tree in their driveway! What kind of heathens are they?" This is known as the "Year Without a Christmas Tree."

Alas, time passes, and we had exhausted all of the cedars on our property. I had to turn to Walmart or Lowe's to purchase a real tree. And though in my mind, they were never quite as pretty as the wild cedars, they at least smelled good.

Then came the cruel day that I purchased (gasp!) an artificial tree! I had sold out to progress! At least that's how I felt. And I sorely missed that wonderful smell that used to fill every room of the house -- even though one year that smell made my daughter throw up. She was about eight years old and had a stomach virus when we brought in the tree. I'm thinking her memories of smelling fresh cedar aren't as fond as mine.

Anyway, after having a fake tree for about a dozen years, I considered going real again this year. But with the new baby, finals, and the myriad other worries I have had this season, I finally caved and put up the artificial one again. They are just so much easier and less messy.

But, I will put up another real tree, maybe next year! I would really love to find a field full of cedars that no one wanted and be able to inspect each of them until I found one perfectly shaped and scented and bring it home.

One more memory: one year when not many trees were available, we had to cut one that was a little larger than those we usually took. It wasn't too tall, just very, very wide. And, if it looked wide in the field, you should have seen it in the living room! It was the fattest tree we ever had, and it filled the whole end of Mom and Dad's living room! But it was wonderful to me and, someday, I want another just like that one!

Merry Christmas everyone and cherish the memories you make this season, no matter how bizarre they may be! And by the way, if you think you can handle a pet in your life, the animal shelters are full of precious puppies and kittens that would look adorable peeking out of a stocking. 'Tis the Season!

Tamela Weeks is a freelance writer in the Gentry area. She may be reached by email at tamela.weeks@ gmail.com. The opinions expressed are those of the author.