By now, you probably have gotten your Christmas tree. And by "gotten," I mean you've gone to one of the lots around town where they sell live Christmas trees. Or you’ve gone to a Christmas tree farm. Or just maybe you pulled the artificial tree out of the attic.
No matter what your method, it probably wasn't as big a hassle as it used to be.
Years ago my family had a tradition where we went out into the woods and picked out a tree. The way it worked was the whole family – me, my grandfather, my grandmother, my parents and assorted aunts, uncles and cousins – would pile into my grandfather's old Buick station wagon and we'd head out for the woods.
One year, we were traipsing around the woods, in search of that perfect tree. It had to be just right. It had to be tall and full. My grandmother’s house had high ceilings and we had lots of ornaments to put on it.
When we finally found the perfect candidate, my grandfather chopped it down and several members of the family helped him drag it out of the wood and back to the Buick station wagon, where it was placed in back of the car.
Back at the house, my grandfather and my uncles then struggled mightily to get the tree through the front door and into the living room. They stood the tree in the corner.
My grandmother took one look at the tree and proclaimed, "That's the ugliest Christmas tree I've ever seen."
And no amount of turning the tree to a different side made the tree any prettier. So my grandfather, smartly realizing he had but one choice, dragged the ugly tree out of the house and tossed it into the back yard.
The whole family piled into the Buick station wagon and headed again for the woods, where we found another perfect tree, chopped it down, dragged it back the car.
When we got the second tree home, my grandfather began to saw off the bottom to get it ready for the tree stand. But as he began to saw it, the trunk of the tree split, making Tree No. 2 unusable.
I suspect that at this point of the story the joy and happiness of the Christmas season went out the window. I suspect that this is when my grandfather began to use colorful language not fitting for a family newspaper, much less the ears of his 5-year-old grandson.
I also suspect he announced that he was going back – again – into the woods and even if he came out of the woods with a tree that would make Charlie Brown proud, it would be the tree we would use.
And that's what he did. While the rest of the family stayed put, he and a couple of uncles went out and found a third tree. It might not have been the most beautiful tree ever, but it served its role admirably.
So as you admire at your Christmas tree this glorious season, remember the struggles you had getting it in the house and standing up straight. Remember the hassles you had getting the lights just right. Remember all the pine needles you'll be vacuuming after Christmas.
But also remember this. It could have been worse.
