A Cynic's View on Christmas Trees

My husband is a bit of an idealist when it comes to Christmas. I suppose that's better than being a cynic, which I could easily be accused of, especially when it comes to getting a Christmas tree.

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My husband grew up getting a cut Christmas tree each year. It probably goes without saying that the Panhandle of Texas wasn't rich with Christmas trees. Tumbleweeds were as close as we got.

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My brother and I were excused from any involvement in decorating our fake Christmas tree in high school when our mom decided we'd outgrown kiddie ornaments, and she decorated it with beautiful ribbons and matching ornaments instead. I don't think either of us minded, and the tree was far more beautiful as a result.
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While I was single throughout my 20s, I enjoyed hassle-free, clutter-free Christmas'. So, this year, when my husband decided he wanted to be a "real family" and have a real Christmas tree, I admit, I was none too excited. It became all the more real when I watched him carry into our apartment 5-feet and 80-pounds of what used to be part of the living earth, but was now a hacked-down, dying tree that would continue toward its final death in our apartment.

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But, my husband and the cats have never been happier. Wayne was so excited, she started with the plastic, while the other two were already making dinner out of the lower branches.

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Bah!

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