Last year my mom and dad made the switch to an artificial tree.
I ridiculed them for the anti-tradition, Grinch-like move. To drive the point home, I bought them a Balsam Fir scented candle to overcome the artificial tree smell. Then I had a bizarre, scratchy-throat allergic reaction to the candle. I guess we all know who got the last laugh.
When you have an artificial tree, the annual family tradition of hitching up the horses to the sleigh, bundling up with hot chocolate and blankets, and riding out to the Christmas tree farm to chop down a fir looks like this:
1. Haul the box down from the attic
2. Try to figure out which piece connects to which piece
3. Subsequently try to figure out how to get the lights to work
4. Relinquish the job to your son-in-law, who happens to be recovering from a Thanksgiving day kidney stone
5. Sit back and bask its better-for-the-environment, doesn’t-shed-needles, doesn’t-need-to-be-watered, arguably-just-as-pretty glow.
The first year that we did a fake tree, I cried. I was worried my mother would one day chastise me in heaven for not carrying on our tradition.
Last year we had a real tree for the first time in about seven years (thanks to our move). I now firmly believe she will forgive me. The fake tree is back in action this year. Thank GOODNESS!!!
to say the least, I’m enjoying the tree. And Hudson’s tail is no problem wagging all along the bottom.
Fake trees rule.