Found a gorgeous little Fraser fir at the lot. Not very tall, but wins the prize on fragrance alone. Sadly, there was no 1962 Pontiac Tempest available. It’s almost like I can’t have anything under the tree this year.
When I was six years old I learned about the Christmas tree industry.
I wasn’t versed in the more complex details, but apparently a job in that field involved the satisfying task of swinging an axe, gathering neat little trees that smell like Christmas, loading them onto cool trucks, then bringing your harvest to a city where the trees could be displayed under lights in the evening.
People would give you money for those trees while you drank hot chocolate near a barrel fire.
I imagined that you could probably just trade a load of trees for all kinds of great stuff from Sears, then go back and gather up another stack. You would be working in the snow, and in a roundabout sort of way, you would be working for Santa Claus.
All the kids would think you were the coolest person ever. So, no, when I was young I did not want to be a fireman or a policeman. I wanted to be a Christmas tree guy.
Great gift idea in the December 57 issue. But if there’s a personal massager under the tree for her instead, then she doesn’t have to learn all those chords.
The fine print in this ad has been an education. I was delighted to learn that a Ritz cracker can be used to “liven” the flavor of beverages, but the mindblower is that Triangle Thins are “sparked with sesame seeds.” Who knew the little devils could conduct electricity? Of course, the mere fact that Corn Thins crackers are “good to munch on” is a nice touch, although it leaves us wondering what to do with the other snacks.
I’m not wild about the idea of keeping a list that confines us to “naughty” or “nice” categories; Santa does tend to reinforce mindless consumerism; truth be told, he could lose a few pounds. But the jolly S.O.B. is still an artist with a sleigh, let’s give him that. Hell, I may as well admit it: I love the guy.
THE OLD HOUSE
A very, very old house I know-
And ever so many people go,
Past the small lodge, forlorn and still,
Under the heavy branches, till
Comes the blank wall, and there’s the door.
Go in they do; come out no more.
No voice says aught; no spark of light
Across that threshold cheers the sight;
Only the evening star on high
Less lonely makes a lonely sky,
As, one by one, the people go
Into that very old house I know.
Walter de la Mare