CHRISTMAS IN GRAVENHURST

BOUGHT A POLYESTER CHRISTMAS TREE - WITH BATTERY PACK - ULTIMATE FIGHTING TONIGHT - PUTTING UP THE CEREMONIAL TREE

WE CURRIES CAN GO MOST OF A CALENDAR YEAR WITHOUT FEELING THE NECESSITY TO CALL ONE ANOTHER "STUPID," OR "YOU CLUMSY ARSE," (SAID WITH A LITTLE SCOTTISH UNDERTONE) UNTIL EITHER WE TRY TO LOAD OR UNLOAD CANOES FOR A CAMPING ADVENTURE, OR, AT THIS TIME OF THE YEAR, ERECTING THE CHRISTMAS TREE. IT HAS BEEN A MULTI-GENERATIONAL AFFAIR, THAT HAS SEEN SOME ROUGH AND TUMBLE EVENTS, SURROUNDING WHAT SHOULD BE A GLORIOUSLY HAPPY….MERRY ACTIVITY.

MY FATHER'S FATHER WAS OLD-COUNTRY IRISH, AND THEY WERE LUCKY TO GET A CHRISTMAS TREE IN THE FIRST PLACE. IT ALL KIND OF DEPENDED IF EDWARD SR. HAD BEEN IN THE SAUCE, WITH HIS CABBAGETOWN MATES. HE WAS MORE LIKELY TO FALL INTO IT, THAN PLACE IT UPRIGHT. MY FATHER, ALSO NAMED ED, HAD AN ENTHUSIASM FOR CHRISTMAS, AND WOULD TAKE ME IN OUR JALOPY, WITH SOUNDS OF GRINDING AND CLANGING PARTS YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE, AND WE'D WIND UP AT A CITY LOT, STRUNG WITH LIGHT BULBS…..WHERE CUT TREES WERE STACKED INTO A SORT OF CHRISTMAS MAZE. ED WASN'T ONE TO HAGGLE, BUT HE WOULD GRAB A TREE, IN FRONT OF THE SELLER, AND POUND IT DOWN INTO THE GROUND. IF HE HEARD THE SOUND OF A THOUSAND NEEDLES, HE'D GIVE THE GUY "THE LOOK." TWO THOUSAND NEEDLES AND UP, WE ALWAYS GOT A GOOD DEAL…..AND IT WAS ALWAYS THE SAME AT NEW YEARS. A BARE NAKED TREE. A BROKEN VACUUM.

ED HAD NO PATIENCE PUTTING UP A REAL TREE. HIS LIFE WAS SO MUCH BETTER WHEN WE GOT OUR FIRST ARTIFICIAL TREE. MY FATHER WAS A NAVAL GUNNER, IN HIS YOUTH, AN APPRENTICE UNDERTAKER, A LAUNDRY TRUCK DRIVER, AND A LUMBER SALESMAN…..BUT HE WAS DEFINITELY ABOUT AS HANDY AS A FOOT. WHEN IT CAME TO TRIMMING THE BRANCHES TO GET THE BOTTOM INTO THE TREE-STAND, THE ONE DULL OLD SAW WAS EMPLOYED IN A MOST PRECARIOUS MANNER. HE CUT BRANCHES THAT MADE THE TREE LOOK OUT OF PROPORTION, AND HE FREQUENTLY CUT THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS THAT MY MOTHER MERLE WOULD START STRINGING ON THE TREE, BEFORE HE'D SECURED THE STAND PROPERLY. "WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR," SHE'D GASP. "NOW WE HAVE TO BUY NEW LIGHTS." MY DAD WOULD HAVE USED CANDLES TO SAVE A BUCK, BUT MERLE REFUSED, EVEN THOUGH HER FATHER HAD DONE THE SAME WHEN SHE WAS A CHILD…….WITH HER MOTHER COMPLAINING…."YOU'RE GOING TO BURN THE HOUSE DOWN….ARE YOU CRAZY?"

Once the tree was up, and we stood back to admire the great Christmas-time splendor, Merle would jump up with ornaments in hand, tinsel in tow, and begin a frenzied round of decorating. When I say round, that's what I mean. Before Christmas Eve, that tree would have hit the floor at least three times, forcing my mother to sweep up the old ornaments, and put on the ones that had been purchased just in case. It was the only time I heard someone speakings in "tongues," and it wasn't at all necessary to hear the words, because the bulging veins on her forehead explained the rage within. She had once purchased huge glass ornaments from Eatons in Toronto, when she worked at a bank nearby, and I can clearly remember her tears, when after the third year, of many falls, the glass globes were finally gone. Every one. Then she got onto a plastic kick. They bounced, and she liked that!

The only year that the tree didn't fall because of gravity and a crappy job putting on the stand, was when a family friend arrived one night, drunker than three skunks, and decided to add a little extra to the tree. "Teddy…..I want to give you a little present…..cause you're a good little bugger." Geez, he took one step into the tree-zone, tried to place a crisp ten dollar bill on one of the branches, and fell right into the middle of our decorated tree. He was a man of considerable frame, and it took us a long while to free him from the strands of lights, and the tinsel which even wrapped around his ears. HO, HO, HO!!

I'm the third Edward in the clan Currie, and I have, with the exception of the booze, had similar issues with Christmas trees over the years. The problem is, there are too many compromises in a house like ours, to get anything but a sprig into the living room without snagging a painting or a Greek urn. We have a big-enough house, just too many relics pushing in toward the centre. So we have to bring the tree in, like directing a 747 on the airport tarmac. We simply can't move everything we should, before the operation begins. And I have this family gene that commands, "if it isn't 17 feet tall, with an eagle's nest in it, it's not the one for us." As for Clark Griswald, writers must have been watching us, all those years, because Christmas Vacation is our story. While it is true we have had less tree carnage than my grandparents, and parents before me, we have none the less, had some of our most colorful festive moments, trying to get the tree in place, balanced, roped down, and cat free. My parents didn't have to deal with so many cats…..only one they called Pierre-Margaret, after our Prime Minister and wife.

The parallels however, are considerable. Suzanne is far closer to a perfectionist than my mother, but very impatient when it comes to dealing with clumsy men, who don't subscribe to persnickety anything. We have a job to do, we do it, we pat ourselves on the back, say some lumberjack stuff, and vacate the premises. Suzanne can take her time doing the Martha Stewart thing, and she always does a fabulous job. Did I mention the cats. You see, in a perfect world……you just wouldn't own seven stray cats. Why seven cats. Well, first of all, we are pet fanciers. Some of the folks in this neighborhood are not….but have cats that are not spayed our neutered. As our are, the problem isn't with our pets, but the fact the pregnant cats find our shed suitable for nesting. With the Humane Society labored with many cats already, we have kept the critters…..as they were after all, Birch Hollow born. We've had two others tossed out of cars near our home, and we adopted them as well. We're at our limit now, so forget asking us if we'd like several more.

Cats and Christmas trees, are right out of the pages of Hitchcock. They can turn the old tree on its end, let me tell you, and there is nothing…..no amount of yelling or threatening, whistling or waving that will stop our felines from punching the decorations. Once last year, I found three of them up the tree, and it was the strangest sight. I'd been sitting nearby and hadn't noticed them playing around the tree. But I could feel something watching me. When I looked up from the newspaper, I could see one face looking out from the six foot mark, another at the four foot level, and another one, perched just up from the stand. We've tried everything to keep the trees cat free, but alas, it's better to just build it strong, tie down the bulbs with wire, and let every inmate here at Birch Hollow, celebrate Christmas from whatever position they prefer.

Robert is the chief architect of our new brush-like tree, because I refuse to follow directions. Did I ever tell you that I'm about the only kid in Canada asked to leave Cubs because of insubordination. Explains a lot doesn't it? Anyway, we'll let you know how it turns out. I'm sure, in Currie family tradition, the tree will be a crisis as usual, true to the spirit of Charlie Brown, our hero, and despite its askew, overburdened, little to the left configuration, it will get us through another holiday season. But at least it will keep its needles, and we won't have to replace the vacuum cleaner…..as we have in the past…..due to engine burn-out…..due to so many, many needles.

Nary a polyester needle has fallen yet…..and we've already unpacked the box. I'm impressed.