Longtime readers will recall that Mo has been reluctant to get a Christmas tree, fearing we would be viewed as being too conventional. Or maybe i never mentioned that. Meaning that it was totally pointless for you to be a longtime reader. Sucker.
I had pretty much resigned myself to another year of decorating the ranchadillo, which is problematic when you try to stick gifts under his butt on Christmas Eve. OK, we don’t actually do gifts. But then you knew that as a longtime reader.
We were at the clay studio today. It was one of those days where Mo couldn’t decide whether to make a bowl or a cat totem pole, so instead left to go to Whataburger for onion rings, and, of course, catsup. Or ranch.
As we walked to the car, there it was. Sitting next to the dumpster was a glorious Christmas tree, already in a holder. Maybe 3 feet tall, just right for our humble abode. Our eyes met; we didn’t have to say anything. We immediately grabbed it and put it in the back of the Studebaker.
We brought it up and put it in the Place of Honor in the living room. Out came the lights. and then the ornaments. The Sheppo family heirlooms, the Snyder Memorial North Carolinia ball, the pinyata star atop the tree. It’s glorious. Even the cat agreed it was magnificent as long as she got some kitty cookies. The cat will agree to pretty much anything as long as she gets some kitty cookies.
We plugged in the lights and it came to life. It was like a scene out of the Grinch. Seuss, not Carrey. That would just be wrong. It’s the Best Christmas Tree Ever. Charlie Brown, on the 50th anniversary of his Christmas show’s debut, would be so proud …
Exquisite, in a low-key Zennish way. The rustic, question mark shape seems appropriate for these troubled times.