THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, December 20, 1994 TAG: 9412200058
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: My Family
SOURCE: BY RUTH FANTASIA, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 62 lines
WE BOUGHT OUR house for one reason - we'd never again have to buy a small Christmas tree.
Each year since we'd married, my husband, Paul, had searched for the perfect tree. The one that would bring back a feeling from child-hood.
``I remember as a kid looking up at the tree in my parents' house,'' he'd say, standing in a lot among the evergreens. ``It seemed to go on forever. I want that feeling again.''
``You were much smaller then,'' I'd say.
``So, I need a bigger tree.''
``We only have a 9-foot ceiling.''
``I'll make it fit.''
Moving from rental to rental place over the years, we'd left a trail of pine sap on ceilings. But the new house was different. We could fit a 20-foot fir in the living room and never worry about cutting off the top to accommodate his disco ball-star tree top.
Our first tree in the new house was a glorious sight. Ten feet tall and 5 feet wide. We had to buy five more strands of lights, 10 more boxes of ornaments and move most of the furniture to another room. But she stood stately in the corner.
People coming to visit were struck with awe as they walked in the front door.
``Wow, look at that tree,'' the neighborhood children would gasp, staring as little colored V-shapes from the ball-star danced around the room.
The next year, we bought the tree the weekend after Thanksgiving. We hauled the 12-foot-tall fir home and nurtured it in a bucket of water for weeks until the annual ritual began.
Paul and a neighbor trimmed the trunk to fit it in the stand and carried it into the house. With much moaning and groaning, they heaved the tree upright. With a f-a-whump, the tree stand bowl hit the floor and all four legs curved into the air. The tree rocked back and forth like a punching bag that had taken its last hit.
``I think we have a problem,'' said Paul.
``I think you need a new tree stand,'' said our neighbor.
``We'll be right back,'' they said, grabbing the car keys.
Several hours (and I suspect a few beers) later, the two returned.
``We couldn't find a tree stand, but we have a solution,'' Paul said. He carried a coil of thin wire, a hammer and a box of nails.
``You're not,'' I said.
``Now, dear,'' he said. ``You want this tree up don't you?''
``But the carpet . . . ''
``Just stand over there and tell us when it's straight.''
They nailed the stand to the floor and wired the tree to the banister.
``There,'' Paul said with satisfaction. ``Now, where's my disco star?''
A few nights later, the disco star danced its last dance. The swirling V's had turned into upside down, stationary M's.
``It died,'' Paul said.
``Yes, dear. But you have to look way up there to see that,'' I replied. by CNB