Concessions

It's really not because I can't crawl under the branches to check the water level any more, but that doesn't hurt. It's really not because I'm too cheap to pay $60 each year for a fresh one, but that doesn't hurt either. It more likely because I hate pulling out strings of lights, checking them, replacing broken or missing bulbs, stringing them, and then later removing them, wrapping them to put away neatly, only to do the same thing next year. That's why we bought our first ever artificial Christmas tree. And I feel a bit of a traitor.

In 50 years, I've never shared a house with an artificial Christmas tree. You may be one of those people that feels it's about time I stopped the slaughter of innocent trees, but the trees we bought were grown and harvested just like any crop so I never felt I was clear cutting any old growth forests. We also recycled them through a program that used them to create fish nesting areas in our local lake. When the kids were little, we used to tramp around and cut a fresh tree at a local tree farm. We lately took to purchasing our trees from the local Optimist Clubs, trees that were hauled in because Frasier and Noble firs are not grown in our area, while also making me feel generous with my support of a local cause.

One year R and I picked out a tree at the last minute, one of the last three on the lot, unable to see how it looked because it was too dark and we were too cold to care, but it turned out pretty anyway. Another time we chose a tree still wrapped in plastic netting and called it our surprise tree because we wouldn't find out how it looked until we got it home. It was also beautiful. I guess we just had a knack. Heck, our trees were so pretty most people asked us if they were artificial anyway.

We brought our 7-foot, 700 light tree home last Sunday evening, feeling a little silly because it's still November after all. We normally would never put a tree up until mid December (at least) but we thought perhaps we should check to see if the lights worked and all of the parts were there. Martha Stewart had apparently done a proper inspection of her handiwork, as we lost only one small branch on the tree with 1,872 tips minus one, a generous looking count by any standards. It's now sitting in the corner, awaiting decorations which I'm sure won't happen for another week or two. Long-standing traditions and all that.

I will say this. I miss the piney scent. I couldn't find a pine-scented candle to burn while we were working, so we lit one that was called "Greenhouse." It smells like we got our tree from a tropical rain forest rather than the north woods. I'm also still fiddling with the tips, trying to get them to look just right. But it's not bad. It's actually pretty good. I do like that I haven't had to crawl underneath to water it in the mornings after I've already dressed in my business suits, and I don't have to worry about it drying out if I leave the lights on too long. I think I'll like it even more next year when I'm not buying any tree and keeping the cash in my pocket.

I was concerned about what my children would think, if I had sold out, or whatever. They appear to be on board with it. I feel as if I've made a concession to old age that I really didn't need to make at this point, but I can't really explain why I think that. It was a pricey tree (by my standards) but it will pay for itself in just a few years as long as I don't go out and buy a fresh one. It will be a bit of a pain to store but I figure we'll cross that bridge when we get there and it will resolve itself.

So now you know. My confession of my concession.