Winter Solstice

Getting the Tree was my grandmother’s Christmas ceremony. It always took place during the last week before December 24, when it was to her negotiating advantage. Her unlimited patience and limited resources were far greater than the most persuasive tactics of the salesman or her grandson. As early as Kindergarten, I was there, lobbying for my choice, while she made her selection and achieved her price. It was always a Douglas Fir and always shorter than I pictured. 

"It’ll go on the table."

Then came loading it in the car. Would it fit? It always did. Once home, the next thing was finding the decorations and the wooden stand, which was two pieces of wood in the shape of an X with a single long nail to drive into the bottom of the Tree. 

We lived in the same house, year after year, but somehow these things were hard to locate. After the decorations were found, we painstakingly tested the lights, one string at a time. Every year, more lights burned out or broke, gradually leaving us with fewer full strings. But we seemed to always have enough. I really liked our lights, the blinkers and the bubble lights. Those were the ones that looked kind of like candles, with a colored glass tube that fit on a rounded base filled with an oil that bubbled up the tube, once they warmed up. But blinkers were the best. They flashed randomly when they got hot; something like stars in the sky, I thought. Once the tree was finished, I would turn off the lights in the room, plug in the tree and lie on the floor and peer up into the Christmas sky.

Once the lights were tested and approved, my grandmother, who everyone called Mom, placed the tree on the table by the front window and put on the lights, moving the blinkers around for the best overall effect. Then Mother nervously opened the box of glass ornaments, the one with a picture of Santa Claus and Uncle Sam shaking hands on the lid. She and I put on the tinsel, ornaments and icicles, while Mom acted in an advisory capacity. She made it especially clear that the icicles, wrinkled from many years service, were to be hung one strand at a time and not tossed in wads.

Then came the December of my last year of elementary school. It was less than a month to my twelfth birthday. The last week before Christmas came and it was time to get the Tree, but this year Mom was ill, so much so that it prevented her from leaving the house. I had never seen her so sick before and since my mother didn't drive there appeared to be no way to get the Tree.

The next day at school, I was admiring the Christmas tree in our classroom, decorated by the kids in that class. Every classroom had one. This was the only year where this was done that I remember during my elementary school years. And on this last day of the semester, we went from room to room, to see how each grade had decorated their tree. 

Suddenly I wondered what would happen to the trees after everyone had left for the holiday break.  During recess I talked privately to Teacher about my circumstance and asked about the fate of the trees. She discussed this with the principal and they told me that I could take home any tree from the school. 

Our class was the last one on the tour and Teacher put me at the back of the line so I could make a careful selection. As it turned out, I judged the one in my classroom to be the best. It was the biggest Douglas Fir, taller than me, decorated with glittered paper chains. 

Teacher thought it best that I wait until all the kids left before I took it from the room. And while I saw no need to avoid my classmates, I did think it might indeed be awkward to explain to the others why I was the one to get to take the Tree. Once all were gone, I removed the decorations and prepared to get it home somehow, about a half mile away. 

Teacher offered me and the Tree a ride home in her car, but I was determined to take it alone. On the way I saw a couple of my classmates across the street who said something to each other and then to me, but I couldn't hear them. I guessed they wanted information but I was on an important mission, so I just waved and went on. At the house on the corner from ours, Mr. Mueller stopped raking leaves in his yard to listen with great interest while I proudly told him of how I came to possess such a Fine Tree.

Once home, I told my story again. Mom nodded in approval, while Mother expressed worry that it wouldn’t fit on the table.

“It can go on the floor.”

I removed the table from in front of the window and placed the Tree on the floor in its place. It already had a wooden stand. It was the first time that our tree completely filled the window and nearly touched the ceiling.

Mom, though feeling very ill, sat very quietly in her chair during my work on the Tree. It was dark by the time I finished, so I turned out the lights in the house before unveiling the completed tree. Mother came in from the kitchen and I could almost hear her holding her breath. 

I put the extension cord plug into the wall socket. The room burst into light. Bubbles slowly began to rise in their tubes, icicles and ornaments glistened, while the blinkers randomly illuminated the shadowy patches of darkness around the tree. Mother started to breathe again and Grandmother nodded.

Christmas came and went. Mom started driving again right after my birthday. From that year on, I selected and decorated the Tree at our house. During high school and college, I even sold Trees outside of the grocery store where I worked.

Many years have passed, along with Mom and Mother, and I still can't put up a Tree more than a week before Christmas.