Of even greater concern was whether or not we'd missed Charlie Brown. Since the Great Pumpkin, the kids have discussed their excitement of viewing the Christmas Charlie Brown. Thanksgiving Charlie Brown was a mere tease. We've obsessively listened to Vince Guaraldi's A Charlie Brown Christmas CD. On the radio, walking through stores, it takes only a single note of "Dr. Funk's" piano for the children to exclaim, It's Charlie Brown! They are, officially, hooked.
Fortunately for me, I was let off the guilt-hook when I got a wonderful tip Monday morning. Charlie Brown's Christmas would air again Thursday night at 8pm. I immediately shared the good news with Heath and Stella. They were thrilled, and immediately began a countdown to Thursday night at 8 o'clock.
The program did not disappoint. There was much guffawing over Snoopy's exaggerated sense of dog house decorating. They both tapped feet and bobbed heads to the jazzy, upbeat tempo. And in great protest, they smacked each other in the face when the show was over and bedtime was declared.
But what seemed to be universally appreciated in the Ropko house was Charlie Brown's tree. To most, it seemed frail, puny, and unfit to be used for true holiday decorating. Heath, however, instantly defended the tree when its pine needles fell to the ground. I like that tree. When Charlie Brown placed the heavy red bulb on one of its three delicate limbs, a concerned Stella whimpered, Oh no, Char' Brown Cribme Tree.
The roots of our heart-strings being pulled by the tree that upon first glance may seem to have nary a chance of making its way into any one's warm home for the holiday run deep. Much of my mountain folk family makes a living growing and selling Christmas trees in Western North Carolina. And as a child, I always found myself eyeing the tree that had an area that was going to have to be turned to the wall, because to some it would seem there was a gaping hole. To me, it had depth, although I wouldn't have known at the time that it appealed to me in that way. Ultimately it would be decided that there wasn't any sense in getting a tree that wasn't robust, and the "perfect" tree would be chosen.
The first Christmas of our courtship, Mark and I bought a live tree together. A few tree guys from Sparta, NC, living in a camper on Central Avenue for the month of December, have been our go-to fellas ever since. They always trim the tree to fit your stand, always help you get it on or in your car, always have some good-looking trees for not a whole lotta money, and always appreciate your business.
We almost skipped our guys this year. When we headed out as a family a couple of Sundays ago to get our tree, it was 5 o'clock. Heath had not napped that day. My patience was low. Stella was cranky. And the idea of driving to Central to get a tree, then have a late dinner, seemed to be pushing our moods luck. Not even two miles from our home, we passed a Christmas tree lot. It boasts NC grown Frasier Firs. It wasn't crowded. And it meant we could be eating and trimming our tree by 6pm. I shouted, Let's go there! So Mark did a quick U-turn, and with odd feelings of guilt, we pulled into a different tree lot.
I suppose the trees were grown in the mountains of North Carolina, but the tree guys working there were not. They were teenagers from Indian Trail. As I passed through the rows of Frasiers, while fragrant, I didn't find any that really spoke to me. Except for their price tags. They seemed to shout $85! $100! $75! I circled around looking for the irregular rack. There wasn't one. Or even one that muttered faintly, $30, $35, heck, even $45.
A mutual decision was made that we would grab our kicking and screaming children, try to explain to them that we ARE getting a tree tonight, but it will not be from this lot, and exit the premises and head over to the trusty lot in Plaza-Midwood.
It took five minutes to find our tree at the other lot. I spotted it before I had Stella out of the car seat. It's tall. Vibrant. Not too wide. And barely missing a limb. Oh, and it was $22. A guy helped us tie it to the top of the wagon, then said, Merry Christmas. We'll see you next year.
Yes, Mr. Man from Sparta living in a camper on Central. Yes, you will.
Mark straightening the tree. This is a long and tedious process. As a matter of fact, he will spend much of the holiday season asking me if I think it's straight enough. And I will answer, yes, whether I think it is or isn't.
With much angst around whether or not the tree was straight and being held in the stand with as much stability as possible, Heath decided to take matters into his own hands and began making a diagram of exactly how the tree should be straight, and exactly how to go about making this happen.
Stella. "Helping."
Decorating the reachable areas of the tree. Stella is wearing my headlamp. This was her solution to the "is it straight enough?" dilemma. I am busy sweeping up the first of many to-be-broken bulbs.
O Christmas tree, o Christmas tree, thy candles really do shine so brightly. Especially if you squint your eyes and have a crappy camera.
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