 |
| 1989 |
Nancy and I have been married thirty-two years come July. This means we have put up thirty-one Christmas trees. Of those thirty-one, the number we have managed to get straight is approximately zero. I don't know what it is we're doing wrong. The Christmas tree base is equipped with eight screws that theoretically let you adjust the tree to any angle you wish. I hold the tree upright and Nancy adjusts the screws - "right, right, do one turn on the left, now another on the top right" - but the end result is always the same; the tree looks as if it were installed aboard ship during a storm at sea, ornaments listing to one side at a forty-five-degree angle.
 |
| 1994 |
Nancy suggested that we take the same approach we use for fixing wobbly tables; put Splenda packets or matchbooks under one side until it's even. This doesn't seem such a bad idea, but when it comes to our tree, I don't think there's that many Splenda packets on earth. The other possibility is just to lean to one side when we look at it, and tilt the camera when we take its picture. Even years when we've almost gotten it straight, a cat, dog, three-year-old or other force of nature, will come through and knock it catty-wumpus. Our Christmas trees always end up looking like some woman in a tacky green dress came in, dropped a bunch of presents on the floor, and then collapsed in the corner.
 |
| 2007 |
I've decided the real solution is the same approach people use who find themselves living in Texas; decide you like it that way. And that's how I feel about our crooked Christmas trees. I like them. They're big and green, the color of hope, they're covered with lights and surrounded by presents. And they lean to one side. They're us.
