Gearing Up

First we had pre-writing, that stuff that you do when you're putting together the elements of a book. And then yesterday we had collages -- or at least the impetus to get busy on one.

In between, of course, we had the Sid-the-cat fracas, but that's life. It's what happens when you're making other plans -- and when you are friends with an opinionated cat with computer skills.

And now we're having pre-Christmas.

This is what happened last weekend: It was a zillion degrees below freezing and the wind was howling out of the northwest. Those things used to be called Alberta Clippers, but in the days of political correctness, someone thought that the winds that howl down out of -- you guessed it -- Alberta would be offended if we acknowledged where they came from. So . . . it's a wind out of the northwest that knocks you off your feet.

Of course we didn't get the Christmas tree two weekends ago when the temperature hovered near 65 and there were balmy little breezes out of, er, Kansas.

So we went out Christmas tree shopping. At least we have given up trying to cut our own tree. That custom bit the dust the year youngest son and I hiked through thigh deep snow through field after field up hill and down dale looking for the perfect 'natural' tree. And we finally spotted one a few hundred yards up the top of a steep snow-covered hill. And we said yes, it was worth it, and so we slogged and trudged and plowed our way up to the top to the perfect tree -- and it was pretty much dead and someone had spray-painted it green.

Writing is like that some days. But I digress.

Anyway, now we buy our 'natural' trees pre-cut, as it were -- and they are not spray painted. Sometimes they are pretty funny-looking, but this one seems all right, more or less. Straight, but little sparse in spots. You aren't too choosy when you're frozen to the bone and your fingers are numb and you're trying to tie the tree on top of the car and wishing you hadn't got rid of the Explorer you'd had for fourteen years because any size tree fit INSIDE the Explorer. But this one didn't fit inside the current car.

We got it home. It sat on the porch for a week while we thawed out. This weekend, of course, it's 40 degrees and edging toward balmy again. Sane people are out getting trees this weekend. That would not be us.

We brought the tree in. Well, first we rearranged the furniture, but we won't go into that. Then, once we had a spot for the tree, we brought it in and we set it up in the tree stand and proceeded to straighten it while praying simultaneously that it would actually stand up. God listened. One year He didn't.

As it happens, we had an audience for this effort. One of our friends has a Chinese grad student living with her. She'd never met a 'natural' tree before, only the ones you assemble. She wanted to see how it was done. We showed her. It was like having an anthropologist watching you and taking notes. She even took pictures. They will not be on display here.

The tree got up with a surprisingly small amount of angst. Perhaps it was well-behaved because it knew it was being watched.

Then once the tree was up and standing, the Prof, duties done, disappeared. This is not unusual. He gets the tree with me. He gets it home with me. He gets it into the stand with me. Then he's done. Put lights on it? Decorate it? Not on your life.

So I commandeered my friend (Chinese grad student left for her job as a waitress in the local Japanese restaurant. Don't ask.) and I got out the lights and discovered that of the five strings we had, three didn't work. Not at all. There was nothing. Zilch. Nada. No light.

So we did the top half of the tree, then went to the store and got more lights. Lots of them. Now we have, conservatively, 500 lights on this tree. If we didn't put any ornaments on it at all, no one would notice. Not at night anyway. It's a blaze of multi-colored lights.

But the ornaments got on as well. The red felt santa with the cotton ball beard that one son made in second grade. The wicked witch high heel boot that the daughter made that has MOM emblazoned on it in multi-colored glitter. (Did she think I was the witch? We won't go there). Several Paddington bears of sorts because there were serious Paddington aficionados here when there were children of grade school age living in this house. A red wire bike to commemmorate one son's bicycle obsession. Several skiers and canoers and fishermen ornaments because that's what our boys did and do. Baseballs. Lots of them. And dogs. We could have a tree entirely decorated in golden retriever ornaments, I think. There are also a few cowboy oriented things -- a snowman sheriff, a shiny red cowboy boot, a tin star. The requisite angels. Snowmen. A santa in a hammock. And my favorites -- the ones made in antique cookie cutters that my aunt gave us the year we got married. They all bring back memories, each and every one.

This year there's a brandnew hedgehog ornament that calls to mind the Hecks -- the family who live in Kate Walker's back garden. She sent him to me, and he was the first ornament I hung on the tree this year.

The tree is a sort of collage of all our Christmases -- of our marriage, our children, our dogs, our cat, our joys, our holidays, our dreams. Putting it up is a celebration in itself.

It is to Christmas like pre-writing is to a book. It sets the stage, it evokes and calls to mind. It makes us say, "Remember when . . . " and smile and reflect. At the same time it prepares us for the Christmas that is coming -- a celebration of family and hope and promise and new life -- like the brand-new grandchild we just found out is due in August.

I'm smiling just thinking about it.

ps: Gunnar got his Santa hat. Now we have to discuss his wearing it. He's been eating it most of this evening.