I must warn you - I am procrastinating (so EASY to do on a snowy Sunday). We already answered some emails, edited some documents, started our press kit and power (?) point (?) presentation (?...We are experimenting with different mediums for information transfer. Some people, apparently, learn best through the bulleted method). The dogs have been out. And I need to give you an update, but I can't right now. See! I just snuck away to make a cup of tea! You are being terribly patient. Since you were so kind to stop by, we might as well talk about something. The weather?
There is an uncanny deliciousness to the holiday season - a spicy, almost palpable flavor that permeates every conversation, every interaction. It is warm, enveloping, and, most of all, addictive. You remember the high from years past, and just as you think you have properly fortified your senses and you will resist this year (BY GOD you will!!!), it overcomes you and defeats you, leaving you, weeks later, shaking and jonesing for your next hit. But unfortunately for you, this feeling will not be available until the day after Halloween the subsequent year (Don’t believe me? Visit CVS any day in the latter third of October and tell me Christmas has not begun…I double dare you).
Tim and I went tree hunting. We strapped on our best snow boots and bundled up in our warmest mittens. I had a scarf; he had a hat. We trudged through the ice-crusted snow, equipped with our trusty saw (which, to me, looked mighty slim. Tim assured me it would do, but the city kid who bought her trees from the pre-cut stock housed in the lot next to a gas station on Geary - near Parker I believe - had her doubts). We approached the hunting ground to find that the herd had thinned substantially. The hording instinct set in. We were forced to sprint from tree to tree, leaving one person to guard the last while the other scouted the next, fearing all the while that the other people on the prowl would sense a hole in our defenses and move in for the kill, taking “our” tree (though so dissatisfied with it we were that we were making eyes at all its neighbors. “Hey there, pretty tree. Great posture and - my, oh my - what a full base you have!”). And finally, it appeared – all 6 feet of spiny green branches and sticky piney smell. Yep, THAT is our tree. We circled and took a defensive stance. Tim, deftly welding his blade, made the killing stroke and let me finish the job (“You need the experience, of course,” he claimed). I do have to admit, it was very satisfying to cut down the tree, rather than audition the trees in the lot, forcing them to spin and twirl on their rickety, temporary stands. I am converted.
And, once she got all dolled up, she was quite the looker, don’t you agree?
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