Tree stories.

After we took all the baubles and lights and what have you off the Christmas tree on Monday, the tree itself remained in the corner of the living room, patiently waiting for someone to carry it outside into the garden. Now this is patently not my job. It is not in my job description. Carrying big and bulky stuff is not one of the things I do. 

Unfortunately, the person who recognises quite willingly that carrying big and bulky stuff is part of his job description, together with changing light bulbs, making coffee in the morning and getting things down from high shelves I cannot reach, has been largely confined to bed. His version of the dreaded lurgy which brought us both low over the New Year period has been much more virulent than mine. The mean feminist in me would perhaps say that, being a man, he has simply given in to it more than I did. But that would be the mean feminist speaking, not the rational feminist. The fact is that the lurgy truly has knocked him for six. 

Consequently, the tree, unadorned and looking almost as sorry for itself as a sufferer from New Year's lurgy, remained in the corner, gradually dropping needles and generally getting in the way. So this morning I took the problem in hand. Quite literally. The tree is not quite as tall as I am but considerably stouter but, having cleared furniture out of the way, I grasped the thing by its main stem, about half way down, and lugged it out of the front door and deposited it in the garden. En route, the tree and I managed to knock the telephone off its cradle, causing a siren-like wail to ensue some minutes later, to send a pile of advertising fliers waiting to be disposed of flying (they are fliers, after all) all over the floor, and to scatter even more pine needles around the place. 

However, the telephone has been restored to its rightful position, the advertising fliers have been added to the waste paper collection and the pine needles have all been vacuumed up. All that remains of Christmas is a pile of Christmas cards, waiting to be sorted in case there are messages that need a response, a couple of boxes of chocolates which we have resisted opening and a photo of my Spanish niece's small son looking very bemused at being dressed up in a Father Christmas suit. In last year's photo, in a similar pose, he looked considerably more cheerful. Perhaps he was not quite old enough last year to realise the indignity of being dressed up in this silly fashion. 

Anyway, the tree is now outdoors, where it will either proceed to wither and drop ALL its needles or actually thrive and perhaps serve another Christmas indoors next December. We like to buy a rooted tree in the hopes that we can keep it alive for more than one season. Most successful was the very first tree we bought, some thirty six years ago. This was our son's first Christmas tree. It was barely two feet tall, small but perfectly formed, rather as in our new-parent idealism we saw our small son. The greengrocer who sold it to me declared, "it'll grow with t'littl'un". And grow it did. It came in and out of the house for a good few years, moving house with us and being repotted along the way. At some point we decided it was too big to come in and out any longer and our no-longer-quite-so-small son and I dug a hole and planted it in the garden. Where it continued to grow until, much to our granddaughter's chagrin, we had to have it chopped down as its roots were getting everywhere. By then it was almost as tall as the house! Ok, I exaggerate but not by much. 

No other tree has been quite as successful as that one. We did consider re-using the 2013 tree, which is still in its pot at the bottom of the garden. Unfortunately, although it stayed alive, before growing new shoots it went through a period of shedding which left the central core rather scraggy and bare. As a garden tree it's fine, from a distance it looks splendid but up close it's a different story. You couldn't for shame stand it up in the living room. The 2012 tree is also there, a sorry thing, brown at the bottom but sprouting new green at the top. quite bizarre! 

I do not hold out great hopes for the latest addition to my Christmas tree retirement home garden but I shall wait and see. 

Final postscript: the rational feminist would like to add that I am quite able to change light bulbs, make coffee and even get things down off high shelves, with the aid of a trusty stool! Just saying, as I am told people say all the time about comments on Facebook!