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Him & Her:
Green Monster in The Living Room
by Nancy and Dan Sapir
 HE SAYS: This has got to be
the last year that we have a live tree for Christmas. It seems like such a
simple and sensible idea to get an artificial model…no fuss, no mess. Every
year we go through the same thing. She hounds me to get a tree early. Every
year I drag one inside days before the holiday. Even if I bought it weeks
prior, it seems to sit outside, leaning against the house. I think I just
hate to get stuck with all those prickly branches that invariably get sap
all over your hands and clothes. The needles shed all over the floor causing
constant cleanup. We seem to have to water it every day. Mario, our Italian
Greyhound also attempts to do the same.
One could never imagine the wars that have taken place trying to get the
tree into the base and then making it stand straight. I'm on the floor
trying to coordinate the stand screws while she barks out orders and
criticism about why I can't seem to do the job. In 37 years I think we've
experienced every lean possible. On numerous occasions the tree itself was a
leaner because I just can't seem to pick the best tree in the lot.
We've had trees that wouldn't fit in the base, which required major
construction work, trees with dead spots that had to be turned into the
wall, or covered with icicles, and misshapen trees that looked like a
chiropractic reject. With all the complaints she has steadfastly refused to
pick one out herself. "This has been your job over the years and I want you
to experience the joy of getting it right one year" she reasons.
She insists on decorating it with glass ornaments which create a mess when
the fall. I'm still picking glass out of my feet from the Christmas of '98.
Plastic is more practical but she says "it would cheapen the tree and not
seem like Christmas." She goes on about how her girlhood memories included
glass ornaments, real trees and lights. Stringing those lights is the worst
job. We have those old fashioned ones where nothing will light up if one
bulb is bad. Finding that one bulb could be cause for commitment. The tree
must then be topped with an angel which is not easy with no head room. She
should try bending over the tree at a sharp angle trying to slip on an angel
that looks straight even though the tree isn't.
Every year she balks at the thought of an artificial tree. "A real tree has
a fragrance that wafts throughout the room providing memories for all who
visit us" she says which always sounds so corny to me. She has me burn wood
in the fireplace every luminary so the "passersby" can smell their future
memories. This is just so far beyond me but she fights like a tiger and wins
out every year.
Then the tree must come down. Off come the lights and decorations, they get
bagged and stuck somewhere that she can never remember from one year to the
next. We struggle to get the base off and drag the thing through the kitchen
and mudroom and out into the far end of our property line. About 20 pounds
of pine needles are left behind, which I refuse to vacuum.
None of this would be necessary with a fake. The tree would last forever,
have a perfect shape, be folded up for ease in storage, wouldn't shed, is
treated for fire retardation, can be sprayed for fragrance and would cost
less in the long run. When you get right down to it, the tree serves as a
prop of sorts for all the presents that go beneath it. Now those presents
only stay under the tree for about 8 hours before they get torn open and
carted off. Nobody cares about the tree, they want the goods.
That's just as easily accomplished with a man-made tree. It all makes
perfect sense to me, but you know, I have a feeling that this is an issue
I'm going to lose every year we spend together. So, I guess my annual
agitation is, in a way, an affirmation of something far more meaningful,
which has never been artificial.
HER:
There are lots of people who use plastic trees, and they're probably the
smart ones, but I just can't do it. I think of my grandchildren who are not
saying, "Gee, I can't wait to go to Grandma and Grampy's house to see their
plastic tree." I like a really tall tree so the little ones can look way up
to see our angel presiding over the yearly ritual of tearing open presents
and scattering wrappings everywhere.
Insofar as his participation in any of this, what he does is pay for it all
and that's it. He does not drag the tree in nor does he decorate it or
fiddle with the tangled lights. What he does is buy a misshapen tree every
year. Two years ago, he brought home the all time winner. It had a big hole
in the lower third. I'm talking a gaping, branchless hole. It was so big
that no matter which way I turned the tree, there it was. I took a creche,
set it in the hole, arranged little things around it, and it looked like I
had deliberately hacked away part of the tree to do it. I swear that tree
was my greatest Christmas triumph. People thought I did it on purpose. I
called the guy he bought it from and asked him how he could have let him buy
that tree. "It's not my fault.," he said, " He took it from the reject pile
and insisted on paying for it. I felt so awful I gave the money to charity."
He also makes sure to buy our tree on the rainiest day of the year. By the
time the thing dries out, squirrels have nested in it and I have to send the
dogs out to get rid of them. I know what he's doing. He thinks that if he
continually buys bad trees in miserable weather, that I will take over that
job, too. Oh, no. I've waited this thing out for nearly 40 years, and I'm
not giving up now or ever.
And as for his not being willing to vacuum pine needles, let me tell you, he
wouldn't vacuum anything if I had two broken legs and my arms were in
slings. One year I had a pinched nerve which is excruciating. He wouldn't
lift the roast out of the oven because he said he knows I like to do things
my own way.
This man is just not into Christmas. He never asks, "What did you get the
kids?" He really should because every year when the kids open their presents
he says, "Wow, who got you that?" He has a hard time remembering our
birthdays, and it's no different for Jesus.
On Luminary Night I like to think of the kids walking along with their
families looking up at the stars on a crisp, cold night with the smell of
wood smoke wafting through the air as they head for the Surprize Hose House
for hot cider and cookies. These kids will remember those nights with joy,
and if all we have to do is make a cheery fire, then that's our tiny
contribution. It's not like we're the good volunteers who drop those sand
bags along the roadway. He watches me load up the grate and says, "Firewood
went up this year, you know." It's like he was visited by the Ghost of
Christmas Gone.
This year he outdid himself. He fell down and knocked his shoulder out of
the socket, and I know he thought he could get out of his few chores.
When he got out of the hospital I said, "You just get yourself to Al's and
buy the booze." He steered the car with one arm, and fortunately our son
David was at the house and carried the stuff in. The lengths to which he
will go.
But I guess these are our Christmas memories, and they're not so bad.
by Nancy and Dan Sapir |
