I got THE most awesome deal a couple years ago on an artificial Christmas tree. I think it was just a touch over $30 for a really nice 6′ high one. (How exactly I got that amazing deal is another story)
A couple years ago, we were going all “green”. Or not, depending on how you look at it. At the time, it was a “green” decision because I was personally going to save a tree. We were going to very dutifully use an artificial tree. I put it up while hubs was at work, as is the case when I renovate anything. The deal between us, is this: I can move stuff around, but he MUST have warning. So, naturally, I call him before he gets home to alert him to the re-arranged furniture and Christmas tree, now set up.
And then, after all that work, and scratched arms, we he takes it down for me. I caved. I renegged. I went back. I’m a suck, a sap. An urban sap, with a pension for killing living trees. I must have my pound of pine. More than that, I must have the scent of the pound of pine. Who can tell me that a pine-scented candle smells even remotely close to a real, sap-oozing, slowly dying, pine tree? Hmm? Well, I use “pine” metaphorically, of course. It is all about the spruce for me. The wilting, oozing, deliciously scented spruce tree. Yum!
That is a tradition I will honor until it is illegal to do so. And maybe even then… I’ll be chopping down my piece of spruce. ( And cleaning up its needles, rubbing sap off the walls, chasing the cat away from the water container, and nagging hubby to remove the dead stump in the new year. Ahhhh. Memories. )
And you? Your traditions?
A couple years ago, we were going all “green”. Or not, depending on how you look at it. At the time, it was a “green” decision because I was personally going to save a tree. We were going to very dutifully use an artificial tree. I put it up while hubs was at work, as is the case when I renovate anything. The deal between us, is this: I can move stuff around, but he MUST have warning. So, naturally, I call him before he gets home to alert him to the re-arranged furniture and Christmas tree, now set up.
And then, after all that work, and scratched arms, we he takes it down for me. I caved. I renegged. I went back. I’m a suck, a sap. An urban sap, with a pension for killing living trees. I must have my pound of pine. More than that, I must have the scent of the pound of pine. Who can tell me that a pine-scented candle smells even remotely close to a real, sap-oozing, slowly dying, pine tree? Hmm? Well, I use “pine” metaphorically, of course. It is all about the spruce for me. The wilting, oozing, deliciously scented spruce tree. Yum!
That is a tradition I will honor until it is illegal to do so. And maybe even then… I’ll be chopping down my piece of spruce. ( And cleaning up its needles, rubbing sap off the walls, chasing the cat away from the water container, and nagging hubby to remove the dead stump in the new year. Ahhhh. Memories. )
And you? Your traditions?
