Say Hello to the Post-Christmas Slug
It’s two days after Christmas, and I’m pooped! What with all of the fa la la-ing on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day as well as my Mom’s birthday the day after, I’m feeling so lazy right now that I’m not sure I’m even ready to commit to maintaining a regular heartbeat. Frankly, the thought of doing so sounds a tad too ambitious.
As Jame and I were drinking coffee earlier this morning, we admired the beauty of the towering Christmas tree before us: the lights, the reflective scarlets and golds of the ornaments, the flowing ribbon. Then, with heavy sighs, we realized that the arduous task of denuding the dang decked-out Sequoia was upon us.
Why is that such a big deal?
Well, first, we have more ornaments than God . . . well, I mean, if God actually has ornaments, that is, which I don’t imagine he does, which is partly why I’m confident in saying, “Hey, guess what, we have more.” But if he does have ornaments stashed away somewhere of which I’m unaware, we may still have three or four more ceramic grinning Santas than he does, perhaps, because while I could see him liking red silk balls or even silver tinsel, I definitely don’t see him being fond of fat, cheesy, ceramic Santas. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not trying to one-up the big guy here. Geez! Who came up with that ridiculous “more than God” phrase? It takes an ungodly amount of effort to try to justify using it. Much more, in fact, than it’s worth. Especially for a self-professed post-Christmas slug.
Now I’m tired all over again. I’m retired.
Anyway, the delicate glass ornaments have to all be wrapped in tissue and ever-so-gently nestled in a special bin marked “FRAGILE!: If you drop this box, the ghost of Christmas past will choke you to death with his bony fingers.” The beaded garland is then poured into ziplock bags, the lights wound up and tied, the ribbons curled into wired balls, and on and on and on.
Secondly, our tree is old, at least in a relative sense, and cheap too. We bought it years ago at a True Value Hardware store for about $70 two days after Christmas. (Hey, come to think of it, happy birthday, tree!) Because of its age and no frills character, it’s not exactly the swiftest thing to put up and take down. Totalitarian dictators have been taken down faster.
The tree has 13 rows of 8 individual branches that have to be removed from the tree’s pole, smashed down, secured with masking tape, marked with the row number and finally smushed into a bin for storage. So, according to my sketchy multiplication skills, that’s just over 100 boughs in need of wrapping, smushing, and smashing.
And, thirdly, considering the fact that my current sloth-like self isn’t even willing to commit to maintaining a regular heartbeat today, I’m certainly not up for the Christmas tree dismantling decathlon.
So, we’ve decided to embark upon plan B.
~ I will concede to taking down the ornaments, doodads, and various jingle jangles, but we’ll leave the tree itself intact, at the far side of our living room for as long as we can stand to look at it.
~ In a few weeks, when we’re re-energized and no longer emulating slugs, we’ll move to a Valentine’s Day theme, then Easter/Spring, 4th of July/Summer, Fall, and finally Christmas all over again. . . at least that’s the plan on the table.
~ Instead of only a Christmas tree, this year it will become our perpetual “holiday tree.”
Yes, we’re truly going to give this cockamamie plan a try. (Any bets on how long it will last? I give it a week.)
Folks who don’t know us who come to our front door will immediately determine that we’re either insane or insanely lazy. Heck, even folks who do know us will think we’re crazy/lazy, but that’s nothing new, and if it means that we don’t have to dismantle the entire faux evergreen today, I vote “Aye!”
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off on a mission, irregular heartbeat and all, to google what kind of heart-themed nonsense one might possibly hang on a “Valentine’s Day tree.”
I’ve got a lot of work to do!