Oh, Christmas Tree, Oh *&@^%@&#

It used to be that Bill would bring home the ugliest, most pathetic Charlie Brown trees known to Mother Nature. I could never figure this out since he's a trained forester who should have an eye for a good tree. Later, I figured that maybe his motive was more "eugenics" driven--- save the good trees and bring in the culls for Marianne to decorate.

This year, however, his choice topped the charts among our 31 Love family Christmas trees since 1974. It's a grand fir (Abies grandis), more than six feet tall and thick with beautifully manicured branches. It's been leaning against the birch tree outside for the past week or so, waiting for its grand entrance into the house.

Yesterday was the big day. After morning chores, I decided it was time to take on the challenge, and I knew the neighbors over at the church to the north and Quest to the east would be hearinga good dose of Marianne's expletives before that gorgeous fir made it into the house.

Past experience with installing Christmas trees into Christmas tree stands assured me that beauty is trunk deep when it comes to this part of the decorating process. In fact, I've often thought about assembling a Letterman-type list on the "ten most likely events to cause dirty words to emit from my normally-antiseptic lips," and this annual holiday challenge has earned consideration.

A few other items sure to make the list would be horses running down the driveway with their tails and noses in the air after breaking down the fence. A couple of prime items from the technology department could just have something to do with computers---hitting the delete key before saving a blog posting, for example or a machine that just flat out won't work no matter how much trouble shooting I try to do on my own.

Then, there are the "hoses of summer." I've been known to spew a word or two while dragging half a mile of hose to a new watering spot, only to suffer severe body whiplash when the damn thing gets hung on a sneaky tree root and jerks me backward ten steps. And, when it refuses to release itself from said root, causing me to have to get up close and personal to coerce it loose, I tend to utter a few choice interjections while stomping back to the point of infraction.

Yeah, hoses do rank pretty high on Love's List of Need for Anger Management Motivations, but yesterday's events reminded me one more time that an unruly Christmas tree trunk will always put out its best effort to win the title. It took me two hours, a pair of pliers, two saws, two flat boards (for my knees) and three "time-outs" to get that tree to cooperate.

First, I've decided that Bill had more than forestry eugenics in mind when he used to bring me those trees with with five limbs two feet apart. At least, you could see what you were doing while attempting to get the scrawny thing to stand up straight while you bent over and tried to get those screws wound tight down at the base.

Our beautiful tannebaum of 2005, with its full plumage, allows no wiggle room whatsoever for anyone with a human anatomy to stand and hold it steady with one hand and bend over and screw it with the other. It's just not possible. I think you need six-foot long arms to achieve this. Since my arms aren't quite that long, I laid it on its side three different times, slammed the stand on to the trunk, wound up those screws and stood it up, only to see it tip to a 45-degree angle.

After the first viewing and unscrewing, I noticed a flaw inflicted by whoever cut the tree down in the first place. Could these people please saw trees off straight instead of at a 38-degree angles? Out came two of Bill's hand saws and a lot of elbow grease as I worked away at the frozen trunk. It's just not easy sawing ice and wood at the same time, but after a trip to the house midway through the process, I finally got the bottom level.

Next time, I screwed with it and then stood it up, the same 45-degree angle sent me into the house for a coffee break and a telephone visit with my mother. After cooling off inside, I went back outside and noticed that an unruly limb at the bottom was causing severe problems in leveling the tree. So, the saw went to work again.

There was no excuse for this tree to tip the third time, but it did. Once again, I reverted to that impossible dance with the tree and kicked it into that stand before leaning down and attempting to find a screw to tighten. Somehow, the tree got the message and stood up straight.

My next challenge was to pack it to the house, squeeze it through the front door and stand it up in the living room. Things do happen during these trips, and they did happen with the tree cuz when I got it inside, there was that same #&##$^% damn angle; it was leaning to the north. Well, yesterday I devised a new weapon in my arsenal, knowing that to go through the earlier process once again, inside the house was gonna get messy and ugly.

So, I went to the magazine box, pulled out a Sunset and a couple of Newsweeks, slipped 'em under the stand and "voila!" the tree stood straight and proud, waiting for the next fun challenge, stringing the lights. Well, the lights behaved except for those whose clamps have disappeared. Many are attached with pretty red rubber bands.

From that point on, however, as usual, the bliss and nostalgia of strategically placing each ornament collected over the years brought on the proper spirit and shut down the expletives. Bill remarked when he came home that it's the prettiest tree ever, and I agreed.

I'm also feeling much less stressed, knowing that next year I can skip the outdoor loading, cussing, reloading, cussing, etc., and just stick that bugger in the stand, bring it in the house and pull out the magazine supply.