We took off for the afternoon, gallivanting over hill and through
dale to collect our Charlie Brown replica -- a scraggly,
branchless, needle-shedding weed that we then over-load with
twenty years' worth of collections.
"Bah!" And a "Hum-bug" to boot!
I might sound a little Scrooge-like but that's because my only
role seems to be that of the Strong-backed, Weak-minded _SILENT_
(even when spoken to directly) Grunt. My many-duties' listings
include: listening to four female-units haggle and negotiate over
seemingly minute details like needle size, number of branches,
tree species, etc. Massaging the egos of each individual as she
pouts after each round of delicate negotiations and harsh
hagglings ends. Remaining quiet, especially when asked whether
"This one" [tree] is suitable for the saw. Bellowing for the
troops to assemble when The Perfect specimen has been located.
The grounds we choose to hike about in are never level, often at
severe angles that make them ideal climbing if you're a Mountain
Goat or Big Horn Sheep. Did I mention that I've traded in my
baby-bag(s) for the REI Day Pack which is often filled with enough
provisions for a two-year overland haul? Distributing said
provisions among the clan hasn't work too well in years past --
with girl-units dropping like flies after a malathion spray. It's
been decided that food and drink distribution should be
centralized (to my back) again.
The last nail to this coffin-shaped tradition is the number of
miles my four are willing to travel to find this ideal specimen!
We won't find one on the first hill. We won't find it on the
second, third, fourth, fifth, or even sixth hills. Those will have
been scoured clean of the Perfect Christmas Tree. We'll find it on
the periphery of the farm, farthest from the check-out gate (and
where we will have parked)! This is where my role morphs slightly
to that of expedition leader and all the previous years' energy
storage (around my waist¹ and arteries) will be used. <sigh> (And
to think of the pain-and-suffering I elicit when asking the three
daughter-units to walk the one mile to their school...)
Why do I do this? It's tradition, of course.
The "If I were a rich man..." Ranger
¹ Thanks to Melba for that editorial catch.