We headed to the tree farm for our annual journey to buy the perfect Rick and Jilda tree. Last year, we went on Saturday and the place was a madhouse. But this year, we went on a Thursday afternoon and we had the trees all to ourselves. We made sure we kept the weekend open so that we could put up the tree and do the exterior illumination.
I brought the tree inside and placed it in a #3 washtub. We always buy a living tree, one we can plan after Christmas so that washtub holds the root ball. We have lost a few of those trees through the years, but strolling through our yard, it’s easy to see all the trees from our Christmases past.
Once inside, I helped Jilda with the lights but I leave the rest to the professional, Jilda. She is meticulous when it comes to decorating the tree, so I give her some space. She never takes her eyes off the tree, so I rely on subtle signs that she needs something, a wiggling finger, a cocked head, a grunt or a hip that thrusts to starboard instead of port.
At times, it’s hard to see where she’s headed but I have learned it always comes
together and it’s beautiful.
When she finished the tree, we turned off the overhead lights, sipped some eggnog and listened to Windham Hill’s “December.” Afterwards I went outside, dragged out the stepladder and began to string lights around the hemlock (which was once a Christmas tree) at the edge of our walk.
While I was hanging the lights, I did something I knew better than to do. I was near the top of the ladder and I leaned ever so slightly to my left, and before you could say Kris Kringle, I was lying flat on my back.
I sprang back to my feet like a cat, but Jilda came running out to check on me. She heard the ladder bang against the house, but she’s telling everyone that the house shook when I hit the ground.
After the spill, I walked around nonchalantly as if nothing had happened but I was secretly taking stock on all my moving parts to make sure nothing was broken.
That night I fell asleep and when I woke up on Sunday morning, I almost called 911 because every muscle in my body was screaming. I snorted some Advil and finally managed to walk around.
Jilda has spent most of the Sunday painting Christmas cards. It’s a tremendous amount of work, but she loves doing it. Many who have received her cards in the past have framed them.
We don’t have many Christmas traditions but the ones we have are near and dear to our hearts.
I can promise you this, next year when it comes time to do the exterior illumination, Jilda will hold the ladder and I will climb it with care.
