There is a tree in my living room. A big ass tree. Big. There is also a motorcycle in my living room, but I already talked about that last winter. So I’ll talk about the tree. In my living room. Drinking water. With lights and all kinds of crap hanging from it. Crap that literally took me years to collect. Years. Who came up with that tradition? I’m sure if I took a minute and googled it, I could find out in the flick of an enter button why we do this. But for now, let’s imagine that there is no way of knowing why we take a tree from the great outdoors and put it in our houses for at least a month. Even longer if you go for that “Little Christmas” thing. Which is something else I don’t understand. But whatever. I’m going to stay focused here.
Let’s imagine that about 200 years ago (I know this tradition has to be at least this old because of the Little House on the Prairie Christmas episode I watched when I was 10), a man was taking a walk in the woods. With his axe, because what man took a walk in the woods in the 18th century without an axe? He saw a tree. He liked it. He cut it down. And put it in his house. He decided it would be a great place to put his Christmas presents under. Because just putting them on the floor seemed a bit lacking. This guy was the male Martha Stewart of his time.
What? You were expecting an epic tale? That’s all I got people. I am not Ernest Hemingway. I write a blog. Anyway, the real reason? ‘Cuz I googled it. It turns out the Greeks started doing it centuries ago. It actually had nothing to do really with Christmas or Christ (I always thought maybe Jesus had a little something to do with it even though they didn’t have evergreens in Jerusalem. Or did they? I don’t know. I skipped that class.) Anyway, they used evergreens to celebrate winter festivals. Or something like that. I kinda sped read through it. Because I’m tired. I spent half a day decorating the tree in my living room. With 20 year old ornaments. And lights.
Fire hazard? I think possibly. Again, whatever. It’s a tradition and who am I to forego the risk of losing all of my belongings to a house fire because I forgot to water it for two weeks and it’s sitting next to the baseboard that is set on 72 degrees. It’s cool. Not the baseboard. Me being okay with a fire hazard. I also sometimes wonder what kind of critters could be living in there. It came from outside. There’s got to be something, right? I don’t want to know.
I sound bitter. But I am not. Really. I was brought up with a fake tree. But I love the one from outside. It’s the real deal. I thoroughly enjoy our little tradition of going out to a farm and choosing our own tree. It’s awesome. Honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I stare at my tree because it is so beautiful. I am in awe. Then I snap out of it and think, “WTF? There is a tree in my living room. That is really, really weird.” So what if I have some anxiety about it? A few years and thousands of dollars worth of therapy is nothing for the memories we are making for our child.
By the way, I said if the motorcycle was still in my living room this winter, I would move out to the shed. Well, I’m not in the shed. And neither is the motorcycle. Like I said. Thousands. Dollars. Therapy. It’s cool.