The 12 Essays of Christmas, Day 2: The perfect tree

“Tradition: Sit with husband in a room lit only by tree lights and remember that our blessings outnumber the lights. Happy Christmas to all.” 

-Betsy Cañas Garmon

AUBURN, Maine - Nobody I know wants a Charlie Brown Christmas tree drooping in the living room.

Brown's fragile tree might work for the Peanuts, but here in the real world a runt like that one just wouldn't do in the parlor. 

Guests would talk about us. We can't have that. What would Martha Stewart think of us.

That explains why we go searching in the New England cold for the perfect tree to adorn our living room.

But it costs money when you are seeking perfection.

Selling out and purchasing a fake tree feels like I am celebrating an artificial Christmas. We did buy a small fake tree that would give Brown's worn-out plant a run for its money. We bought it at a yard sale, and it sits in our closed-in porch during the holiday season.

It's our back-up tree.

But imagine stumbling upon a vendor who sells you a fine, full Christmas tree to fit your budget.

He's out there, and he offers returning customers a cup of good cheer by knocking money off of the price of a tree. He doesn't do it for everybody, but he seems to enjoy trimming the cost for me, and I appreciate that.

For the last 10 years, this "guy" travels from Waterville with a forest of Christmas trees in tow and spends about a month selling them in Auburn.

Calling him a nice guy would be understating this human being's genuine concern for his fellow man.

Every holiday season, we seek him out and he enjoys our annual hour of conversation. He delights in seeing my son and loves hearing about his academic success in the classroom.

He is the reason why you can't write off humanity and declare the human race a train wreck.

We pay the man and drive away with our tree that will soon brighten our living room with the sweet smell of pine,  stunning lights and decorations.

I look forward to seeing him next year.

Setting up the tree and clearing out a corner of the living room is a quick-and-easy task.

But after the lights, wraps, and decorations are up and a flashing, bright star is placed atop of our tree, it is all worthwhile.

The tree connoisseur

My father taught me the art of choosing the right tree. He really knew how to pick them.

Dad would find something we could afford and haggle over the price of the tree with a stubborn vendor. These guys would have made great congressmen.

He scrutinized its appearance, checking for bare spots and damaged branches before making the vendor an offer he couldn't refuse.

Then came the Herculean task of jamming the tree into the narrow sleeve of an iron, home-made tree stand that should have been sold for scrap years ago.

Dad drove the stand up the stump of the tree while spewing adjectives that would make our ears smart. He directed his anger with every blow he took with a sledgehammer.

I can still hear those colorful words, along the clanging of the hammer, ringing in my ears.

Once the tree was upright, then came the decorations.

When I became a strapping young man, dad designated me as the official tree lifter. 

I carried my load.

Thanks to my father, I can pick out a fine tree at a reasonable price. But that rusting, old iron tree stand still sits in his cellar as reminder of Christmases long ago.

But I won't part with it. I will keep the hunk of steel as a warm reminder of those cold winter evenings picking out a tree with my father.

A piece of the past

AUBURN, Maine — To many of you, this is an ash stump that should have met its end in the fires of my ancient wood stove.

To me, this heavy lump of rock-solid ash, which I rescued from the wood pile, is another masterpiece produced by the creative genius and earth's resident artist - Mother Nature, who continues to amaze us all.

This stump is from an ash tree that has been around for about 100 years. It has weathered numerous storms as it slowly stretched its long limbs toward the sky. But my neighbors had it removed after its size posed a threat to their home. 

The 50-pound log was used as a chopping block for nearly a year. It served me well as I split hundreds of pieces of wood with a 15-pound maul. It survived the elements and the constant pounding of my devastating blows. We got to know each other well, and I found the stump to be a trustworthy companion in the summer heat and winter's numbing cold.

With nearly all the wood gone, I was about break apart this two-foot chopping block, which would have provided four to five hours of warmth on a cold spring day. But I recently ran across an article about converting quality stumps into tables. And the more I looked at the log, and the way it was cut, I knew that this piece was candidate to become a rustic table. It is a really unique stump with a beautiful top and would look good outside or inside my home.

It will become a lasting tribute to my indomitable spirit and soar back. I removed nearly 4,000 pounds of solid ash from my neighbor's property in the searing heat. I chopped wood for most of the year. I figured I had two cords of wood at my disposal. That would have cost me nearly $400.00.

I tackled this uncomplicated project with zeal.

I peeled away the thick bark with a heavy-duty wood chisel. I scraped it all off while my orbital sander was waiting in the bullpen. I began with a medium coarse of sandpaper and finished off my sanding using a more fine brand.

The whole project will take about eight hours to complete.

During the sanding phase, I discovered tiny lead pellets on embedded in the face of the stump. I am assuming these minute chards came from a shotgun blast, which would not be out of the question. Before dozens of homes were built, this was the perfect hunting ground. I sanded over the pellets and made them shine.

I am at the point where I will apply at least three coats of varnish to make the stump stand out. When the varnish dries, I will sand by hand with fine wet-and-dry sandpaper to smooth out the rough finish.

Next comes the furniture polish, which should add a nice sheen to the wood.

My new table will serve as a conversation piece, a spot to place my hot coffee, and a fond memory of summer and winter spent chopping wood.

It's beginning to look like insanity

Our tree, outdoor lights and Anthony and Terri make three.

“The best Christmas of all is the presence of a happy family all wrapped up with one another.”

- author unknown

AUBURN, Maine — The warning signs began appearing just before Halloween.

I didn't notice the first few clues of impending mayhem as I meandered around the aisles. But there they were there, right in front of my face.I figured all that madness was still a month and a half away.

When Halloween passed, that's when all hell broke loose!

Perhaps it was in the dead of night and under the cover of darkness when retailers gave the order to remove all Halloween decorations and replace them with trinkets of good cheer.

Thanksgiving was about to take a back seat to the craziest holiday of all — Christmas.

After all, Christmas was ONLY 55 days away, and there was not a moment to lose when battering consumers with good cheer. Thanks to greed, commercialism and capitalism run amok, the most wonderful time of year has become an orgy of spending.

For nearly 60 days, blatant reminders are in your face 24-7. It always begins with a just few aisles featuring Christmas decorations before all department stores reach Defcon 5, which is a level of commercial readiness that would keep the U.S. Marines on their toes. Stores go right to work ambushing customers with deals on toys, clothes and appliances.

Thanksgiving has become the gateway holiday to the most ludicrous day of all — Black Friday — a day that usually lives in infamy. Stuffed and groggy consumers rise early and venture into the night to shove aside or mace their fellow man to muscle their way in line to buy a flat-screen TV. Christmas cheer turns into jeers as herds of shoppers wait in the cold for the doors to open. They can act like lunatics during a shopping frenzy that would make any serial killer turn around and walk out the door.

The push-and-shove conflict erupts in departments stores across the U.S. and garners nationwide TV coverage. For me, it is one of those "who gives a damn" stories that dominates the news cycle for 24 hours. And it gives network cheerleaders an excuse to report that the nation has clawed its way out of this endless depression. Of course, we all know that is not true.

But all this shopping hijinks is a pleasant distraction from a planet in peril and the bunch of fools who screwed up Congress.

I avoid all stores at all costs on this particular day. I would be a no-show even if stores were giving away their products. The last thing I want to do after stuffing my face with turkey is get up at 3 a.m. and have a throw-down with ravenous consumers in the middle of a congested mall.

Black Friday is also TV's and radio's cue to begin working over consumers with 30 days of Christmas music and specials that make me want to take my chances with the Ghost of Christmas future. I search the radio dial in vain to find a rock-and-roll song. Eric Clapton's "I feel free" works for me.

But I do not subscribe to Scrooge's warped thinking. He was one SOB before three ghosts took the old man out for walk and scared the living crap out of him.

There is a beautiful tree taking up most of my parlor and outdoor Christmas lights illuminating cold winter nights. So I won't need a visit from Jacob Marley to convince me about the importance of this holiday.

For me, Christmas is a celebration of family and an opportunity share some time with those who are still here. All the hoopla surrounding this holiday is like the trimmings on a Christmas tree. For many Americans who are unemployed or lost loved ones, this is not the most wonderful time of year. There are empty seats at the dinner table, and many of us are celebrating the holiday with a skimpy dinner that Bob Cratchit would find impossible to enjoy.

All this good cheer and hope lasts a mere 30 days, and then we all jump back into the rat race. We quickly pack away decorations and throw out the tree, acting like nothing ever happened.

But I can't help wondering why we all can't keep this frame of mind throughout the year. Why only 30 days? How about making it a full 365 for the greater good? Why does all this goodwill toward men suddenly disappear?

Dickens had it right when he wrote: "and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!"

And oh by the way — Merry Christmas.

The gift

It was subtle act of kindness that brought great tidings of joy to a family of three during a season where everybody is enveloped by the holiday rush and all its madness.

The person responsible for providing this rare holiday magic without any fanfare was a gentleman who I see once a year for a 30 minutes each December. He is a hard-working man whose kind eyes and sincerity make him a memorable human being. He also understands that times are tough and families are trying to weather a withering recession.

Each Christmas, this man, who is unforgettable even though I inexcusably forget his name, hauls his trees from up north and sets up shop in Auburn, Maine, to sell his fine pine trees and make Christmas a lot more merry for his clientele.  But it really doesn't matter that we don't know each other by name because we figured out long ago what is really important in our lives.

He is the kind of guy who shakes your hand and adds a "God bless you" before you leave the lot with a tree sticking out of your trunk. And he means it, and that is why it is a privilege to purchase a tree from this honest man each season.

Over the years, we often had these brief but intense conversations about our children and how much we love them. We both understand the importance of raising children even though we have only spent about 30 minutes each year on a cold December afternoon discussing our priorities and loyalty to our family

This December was no different as we were greeted by his warm smile, and of course, one of his first questions was how my son was getting on in life. His considerate inquiries about my son made our quick seasonal encounters enjoyable, because my family is my lifeline and he obviously feels the same about his brood. While my wife, Terri, is the foundation in our home, Anthony is the centerpiece of our lives.

I asked him how he was doing as I checked my wallet for some cash when I was surprised to learn I didn't have enough money to cover the cost of purchasing the tree. He overheard me talking to my wife, and he asked me if I had a problem with money. I told him I was fine, but that I had to visit an ATM and rushed off in the car.

Now I know he would have worked something out if I could not have afforded one of his fine trees. He is that kind of rare human being who is not solely motivated by profit. 

When I returned to the lot, we walked up and down looking for a narrow tree to fit into our small parlor.

We made our decision after much discussion. The employee gave the tree a fresh cut. I reached for my wallet to pay for the $22.00 tree. He told me $15.00 would work for him. My eyes widened. I wasn't looking for a bargain because I know this family works hard to bring these majestic trees to market.

I asked him if he was sure about this last-minute offer. He smiled and said it was fine. We again spoke about my son before I rushed home to put our prized tree in the house.

Sure, the $7.00 would not break his bank account or make me any richer. It was the thought that counted. I gratefully shook his hand and wished him Merry Christmas.

My wife was stunned when I told her about this simple act of kindness. 

We both knew it wasn't about the money.

It was about one man's benevolence during a holiday that is supposed be about giving.