Tree Day

As much as I long for a Rockwellian joys in our family life, the truth is we have very few traditions established. However, over the last few years it seems a trip out to Davis Ranch in Sloughhouse is an event even our teenage "Daughter of Constant Complaint" gets excited about. Sure there are plenty of churches and Boy Scout troops hawking Christmas trees at nearly every intersection and parking lot in town but Sloughhouse, though out in the country, is actually closer than my work. And all the trees are the same price ($28) no matter how big.

Usually, I push for getting the ol' tannenbaum the Saturday immediately following Thanksgiving (I have decreed in full fatherly mode that Christmas season officially begins when Santa parks his fat, red hiney in front of Macy's on 5th Avenue in NYC at the end of the parade.) However, a whole slew of life-crap has just devoured our time and the house was not properly prepped for a tree that weekend. So it was marked on the calender for the following one: December 4 - get the tree; Dec 5 - decorate it.

But then, on the Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend, the day before all the kids go back to school, Mrs. Koko wrenches her back. She is out of commission completely for the next 3-4 days. The first few days of that week had at least two of my three daughters ill with one thing or another. The house which had settled into a mild chaos as I focused on clearing out the garage and gathering the Christmas trimmings, fell further into disarray while I was at work. We barely clear enough space to maneuver in a tree by that Saturday and luckily, after a couple of nights of Flexeril, Mrs. Koko's back is behaving a little better (though not soon enough for her to make it to a yearly cookie exchange--no holiday treats in the Koko house yet).

Saturday comes and there's a slight (but planned) delay whilst the older two daughters get their hair trimmed and colored. And then, we're off! The usual sibling arguments once there and the inevitable disagreement over which tree is the "perfect" tree. Mom like Tree A (which really was the better tree) but the youngest one (9 yrs old) is on the brink of tears if we don't get Tree B. Her sisters side with her...eh, it's almost as nice as Tree A and, frankly, we were losing daylight and it was getting cold. We go with Tree B. I give my girls a few tries with the saw but eventually it's up to Dad to fell the poor plant. Then, while I lash our quarry to the roof of the minivan, the rest of them go on a second hunt for a tree for grandma. Soon we have two trees strapped to the van and, after a brief stop for some kettle corn, we're off to the Sloughhouse Inn--our traditional stop on all our tree safaris--just a half mile up the road. The missus and I each have a prime rib sandwich while the girls dine on burgers and a calamari appetizer. As it supposedly can earn the Daughter of Constant Complaint some extra points at school, we ask to see the manager so she can interview him about the many and various ghost stories associated with the Inn. He was cool about it and had a decent story to tell himself even though he'd only been there a few weeks.

We drop off grandma's tree and set it up for her. It's a bit taller than she usually gets but it looks great. Then we get ours home. I have a bit of trouble getting the stand to fit over the trunk and have to saw off a bit of the knots on the side before I can get it in. Finally I got it in the stand and drug the tree into the house to our traditional tree-spot, in our front bay window. Only...it doesn't fit. The tree is about a foot too tall. The ceiling slants upward from the window so we bring it further into the room. But it's not clear of the ceiling until it is practically in the very center of the room, right in front of the TV. OK...on to Plan B. Some quick furniture rearrangement and we get the tree positioned under the peak of the vaulted ceiling.

This is easily the largest tree I've ever had in my house in my entire life. And the girls just love it.

Now if I can only pull off my hoped-for surprise this year...ages 9, 14, and 15 and they've never been to the snow. One thing or another always seemed to get in the way. I'm looking now for a vacation rental for the weekend following New Years (they're all booked up until then) up in/near Tahoe. Keep your fingers crossed.