I knew we were in trouble as soon as we stepped onto the money mat.
Now by my definition the money mat is a term used in retail for any
area set aside for upselling. Some places are easier to spot than
others. Take the world of audio video for instance. Most equipment on the
floor has a sale sticker on it but as you step into "the theatre/symphony
experience room" nothing you are going to be listening do is going to be on sale.
Did you ever notice that the indoor car show rooms, and the
salesman's office are both carpeted? It came as no surprise then that
when we spurned the snow drifts and the bitter wind of the "cut your
own" area and headed instead for the warm, draft free, heavily
scented, seasonally musically enhanced shelter of the pristine
Christmas tree barn that we had in fact stepped onto one whopping big
money mat. These trees were not bound by ice and snow or trussed up
and tossed together such that you are left to speculate as to their
true shape. No sir, these beauties were standing on their own like
prize pouter pigeons each fully fledged in awe inspiring green
plumage. Salespersons dressed in archetypal Canadiana mad trapper
hats and red checked jackets guided you through the maze to whatever
specifications that you would care to throw at them such as " I want
something -tall with a not too tall look, make it full but not bushy,
I don't mind a few dropped needles but nothing sharp needled, it must
be fragrant but I'm allergic to the scent of pine."
"Right over here sir."
In our case we wanted "something in the much taller than what you
have at a reasonable price but not too wide category. Not too much
leaf drop and lots of smell."
"Right over here sir. Them there trees outside they ain't no trees.
Now this here's a tree!" You could either purchase it outright or
make a number of payments that would take you right up to next
Christmas. The tree costs slightly less than half of what I spent on
my first car, but what are you going to do? You see normally we would
be satisfied with the typical 6'8" tree that they sell at every main
retail store like Walmart and Canadian Tire and now even at our
grocery store. This year however we have a new "sun room" with a
cathedral ceiling and your pedestrian six footer just wouldn't make
the grade now would it?
To seal the deal they make a fresh cut on the end and send it through
a machine that trusses it up like all the "guess what I'm going to
look like" ones. They do not however conscript anyone to haul the
heavy beast to your car nor do they employ a crew of sailors to lash
it onto your roof so that it doesn't become a coniferous missile the
first time that you turn a corner.
Our tree holder is quite unique and I believe designed and built by
the same business that sold us the tree. It has a large wooden cross
for a base on which is affixed a large nut and bolt and a sturdy
metal basin capable of holding about a gallon or so of water. A guy
rope system leads from the wooden base to a sturdy metal chain that
you put around the tree trunk. Simply attach the metal hooks at the
ends of the guy ropes to the metal chain, tighten up the lines and you
are done. This system has worked flawlessly for at least a decade.
Now it would seem that Christmas trees grow in proportions similar to
crocodiles. "Whilst" we were in Australia we learned that crocodiles
grow more or less evenly to a certain point but once they get to that
magic number they grow disproportionally wider and heavier for every
inch there after. Thus a 3 meter croc could be a threat but a 5 meter
croc is potentially a man eating monster. It therefore follows that a
6 foot 8 inch tree is a lush blessing while a 9 foot 6 incher is a
forest force unto itself.
It took Gord, Dan, and myself (holding the light end) to wrestle it
down from the car, journey around the house, clamber onto the new
slippery as a curling rink man made material deck, and force the
sacred symbol through the sliding doors of the new sun room. After a
respectable time of heavy breathing recuperation the three lads
endeavoured to lift the offering vertically enough to allow Jan to
slip the tree holder underneath it. On the second "UP!!!!!!!!!" we
succeeded. However when the base of the tree hit the metal basin a
frightening "Whhoopummmp. aaaa whoommpa" ensued. Never have we heard
this sound before and as a group we went into silent denial. Hear no
problem, there is no problem. The chain was lashed to the trunk. The
guy ropes were hooked onto the chain. The question,"Is it straight?"was fielded. "Straight aye straight!" or thereabouts came the answer. The guy ropes were set. Done.
Next came the cutting of the bindings which held the creature in
tight to its core. As the scissors cut the strands of mesh you could
hear the straining of each coniferous muscle as it readied itself for
freedom.. At the final moment of unleashing our new sun room became a
sun closet stuffed with a tree.
"Quick get the water!" I am a big believer of getting water into the
tree right pronto. A newly set tree is a thirsty tree and you need to
get things in working order right away lest you are left with some
dried out needle dropper. A gallon of water specially treated with
some overly expense bit of chemical almost but not quite guaranteed to
make your tree more supple longer was hurried into the metal bowl. And
some of it stayed in the bowl too. Drip by drip the now chemically
enhanced expensive water left the bowl for the flat lands of the
electrically heated ceramic floor. At this point re-lifting the tree
to do some sort of investigation was out of the question. The next
best solution seemed to be to jam a few thin cleaning sponges between
the floor and the bowl, then surround the main sponges with back up
sponges. Now there's a festive sight you won't find in a Martha
Stewart photo shot.
The tree was left overnight to "fall out" as they say.
In the harsh light of day all seemed fine once sponges had been
wrung and replaced and a smattering of needle filled puddles had been
dealt with.
The division of Christmas tree labour unfolded as per usual. Jan with
the aid of a step ladder put the lights on the tree. The kids had
their own bags of ornaments to put on and then when it was all done I
put on the angel. The angel was now at a height which was well over
the adjacent ceiling fan. I couldn't help wondering aloud even then if
we were going to get through an entire holiday season without someone
accidentally engaging those big wooden blades.
The next day as I was out pushing the snow blower along the sidewalk
the tree was busy doing a face plant onto the floor.
The news was broken to me as I shed my boots and parka at the door.
Instead of a hello I got, "It's going to be okay and no one was hurt."
This was a gambit designed to head me off at the pass as they used to
say in the old western movies. In the past I have not been known for
my calm measured response to some situations. My kids have nick named
it as the rocket to craziness, and although the years have mellowed me
I could feel my right eye starting to twitch.
I have always found it difficult to part with items of nostalgia. I
have a deep appreciation for those whose lack of will power to throw
things out leads to clutter and even hoarding on a disruptive scale.
However when generations old glass hits hard ceramic floor with both
speed and force many decisions about what should stay and what can go
got made for us.
I surveyed the sight and fought the urge to drag the offending hulk
out into the snow and let it rot until at least mid summer. Serve it
right if you ask me but there are others involved here- best to be the
better man. So once again it was hauled back onto the leaking stand.
No worry about spilling water as it was already on the floor. Once
again the fastening procedure was underway until "Ah ha, the culprit
has been found!". The tree was so heavy it had bent one of the
attaching "S" hooks right out straight. I used pliers to bend it back
but this time to an almost closed position. The tree spent the night
standing straight but in disgrace, stripped of its lights and
remaining unbroken family treasures - the jury still out as to its
future worthiness.
The dawn found it still upright though it was listing to one side.
Easily enough fixed but it was a long time before Jan attempted the
redecoration. I had by this time turned my back on the confounded conifer.
I didn't even have the heart to watch let alone take part. In the endI got on the ladder again an replaced the angel who now at close inspection looked like she was at the losing end of a bar fight.
Just about in time for happy hour the tree decided it was too full
of the Christmas spirit and leaned over against the sliding door like
some inebriated rookie at his first office party. "Heeeey who are you
look'n at bu-bu-buddy?" My entire head began to twitch, followed
closely by the my rest of the right side of my body. Jan's eyes began
to tear.
It was time to brain storm. I suggested a good chopping down with
the axe followed by a jumping on of the branches and subsequent
pouring on of gasoline. The flames to be put out by a group pee. Jan
offered up the idea of rope. I speculated that we had inadvertently
dragged home a tree inhabited by that legendary mean woodland spirit
the Wendigo. I therefore proposed and then performed an exorcism of
my own Celtic design. I waved a shortbread and a glass of single malt
in its general direction and yelled,"Evil spirit be gone!" Jan
suggested really, really, thick rope.
During the next round of lifting, steadying, rope tighten,and
floor mopping, Gord decided that we should have the over head light
on. A good idea and not his fault that the light switch is smack
against the fan switch. The tree took the bashing surprisingly well
and the repainting of the the angle's face a total success when viewed
at a distance.
So now you know why our Christmas tree is tethered to the brass
handle of the new sliding door by green anchor rope thick enough to
hold the yacht Britannia. You will also note that it is covered only
in ornaments that are made of cloth, wood, or aircraft weight
aluminum. The tree for its part seems to behaving nicely and holding
its position. The bowl isn't even leaking as much. Maybe the
shortbread and scotch did the trick. Still a bit of time before
Christmas though. Ken
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