That’s Life By Nell Musolf
The most wonderful time of the year
I
am always a fairly sentimental person. But come Christmastime, I become an incredibly sentimental person. Extremely sentimental. To the point that hearing the beginning notes of the theme from the “Charlie Brown Christmas Special” or seeing anyone wearing a Santa cap causes me to immediately tear up. I won’t even get into what candy canes do to me. Suffice it to say that in my book, Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year. One of the best parts of the whole Christmas season is getting a tree and decorating it, something that I look forward to every year. Our family always had a real tree but my father, well-known for getting the most bang for his buck under any circumstances, always opted for the cheaper long-needled pine trees instead of the (in my opinion) prettier (although more expensive) short-needled trees. Since the trees were sold by the foot, he also delighted in finding the fattest and shortest tree on the local Christmas tree lot, believing that a whole lot of width somehow made up for a lack of height. The result of his thrifty ways was often a Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room that looked more like a green fire hydrant on steroids instead of something a little more Yuletidey in shape — but that never mattered. What mattered was the smell of pine needles slowly replacing the ordinary house smells and the feeling of anticipation that went along with hanging family ornaments on the trees stubby but fragrant branches. When Mark and I were first married and too poor to get both a real tree and ornaments, we decided to splurge on ornaments that would last forever and skip the tree. Instead we taped an outline of a
Christmas tree on a closet door and then taped lights and ornaments to the outline. It looked fairly nice until our cat decided that ornaments and lights taped to a closet door must have been some kind of hideous decorating faux pas and decided to methodically pull every last light and ornament down with a crash onto the wooden floor. The next Christmas we tried decorating a ficus tree with lights and whatever ornaments had survived the previous holiday season with a little more success until the cat got even with us for hanging the ornaments out of his reach by using the dirt at the bottom of the tree as his new kitty litter pan. In addition to short-needled Christmas trees, I also have a weakness for aluminum trees — the kind made famous during the 1950s when anything shiny and manufactured was considered better than anything that grew in a forest. While I’ve always pined (sorry) for an aluminum Christmas tree, I was never able to find one until a few years back when I spotted a beauty on eBay. I was especially excited because not only was this particular aluminum Christmas tree affordable, it was (according to its description) still in its original box and the person selling it lived in Owatonna. Just think what we’d be saving on postage alone! After several nerve-wracking evenings spent glued to eBay, I won the aluminum Christmas tree for the amazing price of $49.83. Even better, the seller agreed to meet us halfway between Mankato and Owatonna. We decided on the Walmart parking lot and drove over one cold Saturday morning. “This is going to be so great,” I happily informed Mark as I tried to decide what would be the perfect spot for our newest holiday acquisition. “I’m going to decorate it with all green balls this year and red balls next year.” “This seems a little weird to be meeting someone in a Walmart parking lot to get a Christmas tree from 1950,” Mark commented. “I hope he shows up.” “He will,” I said confidently. The seller showed up and the aluminum tree was even better than I’d imagined. After we got home, Mark removed it from its original packaging and set it up where it twinkled and shimmered. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one enchanted with the tree. Our cats loved it too, especially pulling out strands of aluminum one by one. By Christmas Eve we had to take the tree down before they destroyed it completely. It is now resting in its original packaging on a shelf in our front hall closet, waiting for the day when we no longer have cats and can finally celebrate Christmas like it’s 1950. M
Nell Musolf is a mom and a freelance writer from Mankato. 28 • december 2013 • MANKATO MAGAZINE