So, clearly I haven't been arrested, which was my concern after my last post. The "tree" is a mangled, mangy hemlock that was "borrowed" from the railroad company. A lot of trimming was done, so that this "tree" could fit into the our very old, farmy livingroom. I should also point out that I had to pull about 900 prickers out of my legs and hands because the getting of said tree involved several bouts with puckerbrush, barberry bushes, and, of course, railroad spikes.
I swear, I will need a tetanus shot by the end of the year. Country Living, eat your heart out. This is the real f***ing deal right here.
When the kids came home from school and saw the tree, there were a lot of questions.
For instance:
"What's wrong with it?"
"Where did you get this thing? China?"
"Will it hold ornaments?"
"Is this the one we're gonna use until we get a real one?"
The conversation continued in this humiliating vein until the lights were on the thing. What tree doesn't look magical with lights? The children were placated with garland, ornaments, and the hope that under this vagabond evergreen would lie thousands of presents.
They are in for a huge surprise. Sigh...
That's o.k. This will be the year that they learn about the true meaning of Christmas, Charlie Brown style, and next year, if things are a little more prosperous, I'll set aside a little nest egg for therapy when they approach their
30s.
Again, sigh....
Please feel free to share your Christmas/holiday in poverty stories via the comments option. I will be thrilled to read them.
This is a darkly humorous bit about life as a rural mother and freelance writer in Western Massachusetts. Little Appalachia, if you will. The title, I feel, clearly reflects how life is coming at me like an overloaded freight train, and my own ridiculous response to it. Me VERSUS all; teenage children, people who want me to work for free, conservative government, food karma, weird menfolk. You'll either laugh, shrug your shoulders, or call DSS immediately. Happy reading.
Christmas in poverty...oh let me tell you. the past two years my family has opted for a "yankee swap" type gift exchange. last year, every single person purchased some sort of kitchen appliance, except for me, i bought an an expensive box of delicious chocolates. this yankee swap occurred a mere three weeks after I'd been laid off and forced to pack up my life and move back in with my parents. awesome to go home from family Christmas with a new kitchen gadget. my options were a) pack it away with the rest of my kitchen what nots, or b) give it to my mom, for her kitchen. both options involved me watching my sister devouring the box of chocolates with her friends.
ReplyDelete...merry christmas.
ah the memories! how about the time my dad wrapped a book right off the shelf. yeah, it was there and then it wasn't, merry christmas to me, not. and no judy blume either, probably william saroyan, or some other must read for a 12 year old. i know he meant well but really, a book, off the shelf, i'm observant, ya couldn't at least get one from a friends house?
ReplyDeleteThanks for the comments ladies. I hope this string continues. Ashley, sorry you had to pick up your life, which is always fun. I've been doing a lot of that lately and dropping little pieces of it out of my metaphorical suitcase. Not fun. But Merry Christmas anyway!
ReplyDeleteAnd Caitlin, that is hilarious. Sounds like something my dad would do, only with like a chipped mug or something...or an old chainsaw.