Goodbye, Charlie Brown

In our last post we mentioned that we had adopted a Charlie Brown tree, that hapless and precarious, but lovable, bundle of sticks for which a single ornament is life-threatening. The tree was, sadly, with us for only a day before going back whence it had come. We admit that this was entirely due to our inability to be without a REAL tree -- that is, a fake tree that at least pretends to be the real thing. We exchanged Charlie Brown for a sleek, slim fir that is too tall for the room but which -- this is important -- can accommodate many presents underneath. But perhaps most important, all our ornaments fit on it, which allows us to avoid the effort of paring down our collection. Someday we might even post a photo of it.

Searching for the perfect tree

It's not official, but we may be up for an award for Couple Spending the Most Amount of Time in the Artificial Christmas Tree Department--Without Buying Anything.

But that would not quite be true. We DID buy a tree. Sort of.

We are in this predicament because of our last Christmas tree, which gave up the ghost after several years of silently enduring being pushed and shoved in and out of the attic, twisted into just the right position for the placement of ornaments, and snarled at for being too large and not fitting nicely back into the toothpick-size container in which it had come. Near the end of its life, it had only a few working, prelit lights as its spirit slowly diminished and, finally, left altogether.

Let not tree purists think that they are the only ones who search for the perfect tree. In our own search for an artificial tree, we have been to five stores (six if you count going back to the same one again), agonizing over a choice that will from henceforth affect our Christmas cheer. A forever tree.

The Hero likens it to choosing a life partner: "Do you, Princess, take this tree, committing to its care for its natural-born days, loving it through its faults..."

But the problem was I didn't WANT it to have faults (just to clarify, we are talking about the tree here). The forever trees I was willing to commit to were no longer available, and the others had, shall we say, special needs. Or they required soaring cathedral ceilings, where we could offer them only cottage-type surroundings.

(As an aside, are makers of fake trees on a quest to make trees that look, if possible, even MORE fake? We have noticed a disturbing tend wherein there is more than one type of branch on a particular tree. I have my doubts that this trend was inspired by nature.)

It was a slow night at the last store we visited, and we debated so long over the trees on display that no doubt the employees were placing bets as to whether we would 1) actually take home a tree or 2) leave with no tree AND in separate cars.

If trees were people, the Hero wanted a Lilliputian. I wanted Gulliver. We ended up with Charlie Brown.

Yes, for roughly $21.99 you can buy an authentic Charlie Brown tree, complete with one decorative bulb that makes the top branches bend over so charmingly. We were sorry to disappoint the store employees who had placed bets; the Charlie Brown tree wasn't exactly a tree, but neither was it not a tree.

It just needs a little love, as the side of the box proclaims. Which we will give it, at least until next year, when the trees are on sale again and we can find our perfect, forever tree. With just one type of branch, please.

The Thanksgiving games

Like many families on Thanksgiving, we partook of the bounty before us as though we were the original Pilgrims: overworked, underfed, and unsure of when -- or if -- we were ever going to see so much food in one place again. We therefore loaded up on turkey and gravy and dressing and vegetables and four kinds of potatoes, and just to be sure our bodies would have enough to see us their through the long, difficult Black Friday ordeal, we consumed several pies and numerous cookies. (Technically the latter were the Little Persons' desserts, but in a society where food is so uncertain, everyone needs to share.)

But after dinner, the Little Persons extracted their revenge for the forced sharing. Taking advantage of the adults' brain-deadness, they hosted a magic show, which we were all urged -- indeed, compelled -- to attend. The magic involved was, er, less than magical, unless one considers the difficulty of accommodating five young egos on the same stage.Truly, THAT was magic.

When a large ball materialized, the action heated up. The magicians were transformed into two teams fiercely trying to keep the ball away from each other. Perhaps it was our brain-deadness, but it was difficult to follow the action, what with arms appearing where legs should have been and heads sometimes disappearing altogether.

Within the space of several minutes the game was forfeited by both sides, owing to the number of injuries that left too few players able to play. Sadly, the injuries also overwhelmed the onsite clinic, which was caught embarrassingly short on ice packs and had to rotate them among the patients, enforcing a strict 2-minute limit per patient.

The non-injured Little Persons, resourceful and quick thinking, hastened to put on a skit wherein both players played multiple parts as animals, or possibly fairy godmothers. It was hard to tell sometimes.

First a duck appeared. It seemed to be overly influenced by A Christmas Carol, as suggested by its urgent message:

"I am the Duck from the Future. I am here to tell you what will befall all ducks. (Pause.) It is not good. The ducks will die if you feed them. Do NOT feed them!"

Here the duck disappeared, to be replaced by an elephant who looked at us gravely. "The ducks are lying. Feed them! And feed us too! Otherwise we will starve!"

The elephant had scarcely left when the duck flew in again, squawking, "Don't listen to the elephant! He's the one who's lying! The food in the future will be ... " -- the duck searched for an apt description of the food of the future -- "poisoned! Do not feed it to the ducks!"

The pace quickly accelerated until we could scarcely tell the duck from the elephant, and were further confused by the appearance of a fairy godmother whose role seemed to be to grant wishes to cowboys who longed for a horse. We did not know whom to believe. Did we want to have our conscience burdened by dead ducks if we fed them poisoned food? We did not. Thus we continued in our brain-deadness, which we found pretty convenient. We were too tired to feed anyone.

Who knows what heights of drama and theater may have been reached had not the excitement been cut short by the father of several injured Little Persons, who declared it time to go home. Yet the possibility of further injuries remained: On the way home, they were stopping at Old Navy.