Putting up the Tree

Today was tree day at last. We like our tree to reach to the twelve-foot ceiling, so there is no stopping at the grocery store parking lot to buy one from Kiwanis--they just don't have anything in our size. Instead, the Composer headed off in our old pickup truck with an axe and Giles, Felix, and Clara, and was back in twenty minutes with a perfect, graceful cedar that just touches the ceiling.

My father has an odd streak of Make Do-ism that has not always served him well: e.g., we never owned a Christmas tree stand. Why should we when five-gallon pickle buckets were so cheap? In an annual ritual my brothers and I were sent outside to fetch large rocks to stuff around the trunk of the tree, down in the bucket. This system never failed to result in a tree that was leaning, tipping, or planning to tip while we were at church. Watching this with horror every year, I assumed that Christmas tree stands were exorbitantly expensive, and never aspired to own one myself as a young wife. However, our first Christmas, the Composer casually brought one home from Wal-Mart. I have since learned that they don't cost all that much money, and am grateful every year when he brings it out and puts up the tree. It's not completely painless, but I don't have to provide any stones, and I like that.