When I watched a Charlie Brown Christmas, I felt that finally, someone understood.
Now, I know I've tried before to explain neurotic I can be about projecting emotions onto inanimate objects. Christmas trees were no exception.
To this day, I deliberately choose the one I think no one else will choose. I kiss my fingers and touch the others, a silent plea for forgiveness at not being able to take them all.
One year I asked my mother if we could take all the leftover ones on Christmas Eve. She asked what I would do with them, where I would put them. She meant it as a rhetorical guestion, but it inspired a vision in my head, of propping them all up in a circle in the yard. I dreamed of deeply breathing the pine scent, dancing in the seculsion of my little grove of christmas trees and feeling myself to be in very fine company.
I knew they would die, I wasn't THAT crazy. But shouldn't someone love them before they go?
And some day-after-christmas, if you pass a little house with dozens of drying christmas circled in the yard, with the sound of someone belting out "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" drifting from inside the circle, and you have a really high tolerance for Crazy, go ahead and squeeze on in and we'll name them each together.
If your Crazy tolerance ain't so high, I understand. Just join us on the beach on New Years Eve, for one roaring heck of a bonfire, as we send them off in high style.
2 Comments:
Does my car have a name?
*scoffs*
Don't you know me at all? Of course she does.
She is Gwen, and I love her.
my best friend and i named all the trees that were planted along the road and in our park one spring (right after they were planted) the only one we remember was named featherdown. he's giant now. we think he ate the little cardboard box of treasure we buried next to him. sigh.
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