Page 18. The tree

An unsheared Christmas tree in New York State ...

An unsheared Christmas tree in New York State circa 1951 displays the natural form of the tree’s branches. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Beauty what can I say:

Is in the eye of the beholder.

It’s all in the eyes which behold it or is it?

No, its in the mind, I found this out in one who was so evenly warped, ever so slightly bent. I can tell you in a few words very much, as you can see. For once I saw the beautiful withering majesty of a fading ole’ Christmas tree

How lovely is a tree? Well that remains to be seen…

Now I will spin for you the tale of my dear sweet baby sister. she who loved to collect; all sorts of odd and ends, but others things did creep in. She is a person who has never thrown out a thing, for she does not see anything as junk. Each thing she has, she thinks of as new thus for her it has great value.  She thinks of it as made of gold. Whether it’s cracked, scratched, or broken; it is as valuable as if it were brand new, like an item purchased freshly from the store. Now today on reality TV they gave those like her a name, so we learned there is yet one more dysfunction, which we find locked with-in some who  functional very well in our family tree.

Yes, she is eccentric an oddity in her way.

Now She had a habit, she imbibed in;a daily rite to ease her panic, she did something’s which helped to warp her little mind. Some  have cracked a few jokes, some they call the thing she did only for dope’s, and others just say its pot. Something many now desire and in some places it has now been made legal; for they say it’s safe. O ya? Dope, crack and pot does this sound like anyone you may know?(dysfunction aided by government decree, oh yes sir that means functionality)

So from here on I will relay the sad story:

Yes, each year she set up then decorated a live, a real tree with such flare. 

I’ve never seen the likes of it.  

She did the strangest things. Perhaps its all the stuff , I really do not know, well I digress; she has a home of course it’s filled from floor to roof with trails here and there..

 Yes today they call it hording when a place is filled like this. Back then it was simply called eccentric or living like a pig. Her stuff included a dog or two maybe even three or four and this little kitty cat; it must have weighted in at  twenty pounds at least, he was a long-haired thing and a real danger, attacking  anyone who entered, he had a need to mark anyone entered.  At times it seemed this large cat thought its self a dog, an oddity and fact. Now the dogs were treated better than a new-born baby’s until they got a new one and then these poor creature were condemned to a life outside. 

Now for the holidays she did sometimes attempt to clean, but the rug doctor well he died on her, so many, many times and Stanly and his steamers they gave in and walked out. So it was that scented candles and powdered carpet deodorizers were thus  added to a multitude of layers, lending yet another layer to the smells, so sprinkled on the floor this new mix it covered all the odors temporally for a time.  In one of our family estimations it lasted maybe twenty minutes tops and that was in cold weather.

Now to you I shall relate the simple story of the Christmas tree:

 How it came to its sad end, in the middle of July, on a sunny afternoon at three.

English: Christmas tree, Switzerland.

English: Christmas tree, Switzerland. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So now I ask do you, still sing, as others have always sung, to the beautiful majestic Christmas tree of Ole’ .  Now will you stop to sing?   Oh Christmas tree oh, alas, you poor thing, my Christmas tree, but for my little sis;  well that can just not be.


So in December of that year she made the mighty trek up to the mountains to select her mighty ever green. she chose it well it was oh so green, it was so straight and regal.  They took care to make sure the watering pan was large enough so their watering their care kept it looking oh so fine, so green, its supple branches with its needles soft ah the savory smell of sweet pine, for it masked the many rancid smells hidden deep with-in the house.  Oh she did so love her ever green, but could not understand; that they had a great demand  for water, nor the fact that they do dry out, so to keep it for as long as it would last they ran a hose into the house to where the tree thus stood.. But to soon the watering became a bother, to be so very rarely done; even with the hose they had run to the tree to keep it fresh and green. Even this did not aid them ,no simply not at all.  Watering for our sad tree it  scarcely did occur. By January twenty-ninth, the tips were falling fast  These once green needles were now piling up upon the floor, the once green branches were now so brittle oh the poor, poor tree it now did look so sad, The branches  were devoid of their pride, for they had no green at all  to cover them, forever more no more green just brittle bare twigs. By now the dog and cat had built a bed with those dry needles upon the wrinkled skirt still wrapped around the base of the drying dying  lower trunk.

Now February came it went by fast, her Christmas tree alas so sad, still had not as others passed away, nor was there any indication it was to be taken down, nor its drying bones so brittle cleared away.  

I stopped by at the end of March just to say hello, and what to my surprise do I still see, but that pitiful remainder of a tree; its few branches they were bare, looking like a distorted cross, so twisted, ever  now so brittle, sadly no one  seemed to care. Oh that poor dried out Christmas tree it was beyond hope or care. Not one person in the home took much notice of the pile of brittle dry needles upon the floor for it had grown so very deep.. By the end of April I did see the Christmas tree again, oh how sad, so forlorn for still upon its branches hooked were the ornament’s it had lost not one.   As yet un-removed also were the  tiny lights, they were there and still did flash, at night they cast a sinister formless shadow across the room; seems almost like they held the branches now in place.  For this I swear the branches seemed to fall as the air with in the room was stirred.  And from the tree one could hear the crackle of the branches and they dried out even more, Oh that poor, poor tree that once did stand in beauty ; had now become dried out match. I asked again just when, when will you remove that tree?   then once more in May I took notice of the angel sitting there a top. Then I again did ask, when she planned to clear her tree away and take the poor thing down. 

Was then I think she’d had her fill; for she let go with both barrels. She looked at me and in a voice so strange, so very guttural, one that cut just like a knife; it’s my tree! Oh don’t you see its my Christmas tree. Now leave me alone and go!

I did not tell you what to do! So do not tell me now to go! Her reply was simple and so true; This is my home its my tree!  Now it came about in mid July, Things were just the same. For the tree it did remain. Oh how pitiful it doth seem, to see that dried and brittle tree. I had stopped again , but inside I could not step for the smell was too intense.

So I stood I was looking in at the tree so formless needles brown and piled high around it on the floor with lights still flashing and that poor angel at the top. I watch through  the big bay window; where sadly lay the dead and dying flies their mass ever more increasing.   From here  I saw that naked tree , so bare, so homely, just a pitiful brittle stick with an angel barely holding onto the brittle and now bending bent and brittle top.

Yes, It still stood, O yes, it did, even now it still held its decorations. And there beside it on a chair sat her little friend. He sat not five feet from the tree as I watched he lit a match, brought it slowly to his cigarette.

Now what transpired next took mere tenths of a second for what I saw was an amazing thing, yet some how did not connect. For I saw her as he struck a match and brought it to his cigarette, then there occurred  a sudden flash an audible whoosh;which I heard from where I stood.  Then there  through the window on the floor appeared as a veil of thick smoke did slowly part; was a still smoking pile of ash, with a black and gray seemly smiling melted formless angel winking back at me.  I stood transfixed expecting the house to burn, to hear someone screaming, but all I heard was my sweet sister yelling.

I heard her yelling at her friend for what he had done. Oh she was blessing him,  calling him, yes blessing him with many varied names; gesturing in many a wild way Oh so many, many ways. 

It was just a moment a go that they had been sitting quietly ready to have a smoke ; now they were in shock as pale as could be ,the hair on his arm his head, so slightly singed and smoking but none the worse for wear. Next I hear her wailing sobbing O my sweet, sweet Christmas tree, look now see what Robert has done to thee. Sitting rocking sobbing, O my Christmas tree, my sweet Christmas tree.


Tree (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

 The tree was gone it turned to ash and shortly after they did move. But that home was torn down it was a bio hazard.

My final comment here is this:

To legalize a drug that burns out brain cells faster every year it’s used; is why they call it dope; for those who use it live up to that name: dope is for dopes.

Our Pappy use to tell us  work and do a job, but my little sister can not get off the pot. Some they call them pot heads, now just think of that; what then does that say for the few brain cells they have left?


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