Electric Socks And Christmas Trees

Christmas Tree Horror Tale

Before I became the curator of the Grassy Knoll Institute, one of my odd jobs was selling "Live" Christmas trees. (I don't know why thy called them "Live" since their trunks were all unceremoniously lopped off and the tree tossed into a truck. At that point, the tree was dead)

Anyway, I believe it was the winter of 1986 or 87 and I found myself volunteered (Victim) from corporate to help Bobby and Mac sell three thousand fresh cut Christmas trees on route 224 in Boardman. Back then, there were still open lots on 224 (The busiest highway in Boardman) with green fields. And of course it was Fucking freezing out with about a foot of snow on the ground. (Typical Boardman, Ohio Winter climate)

Zero Zone Suit

I had one day to prepare for the hazards of working outside in cold conditions. I dug out my zero zone suit, (A very warm coverall that zipped up) my insulated boots, and thick electric socks. (Yes, electric socks, batteries sent a current into a mesh weave through the sock keeping them warm)

Being the good soldier I arrived on time for my shift. It was late afternoon, and I knew that I would be stuck in a freezing cold field with dead Christmas trees lying around so I stopped at Arby's for dinner. I pulled in the tree lot and parked my Jeep and jumped out.

Welcome to my Christmas tree universe. An open field, hundreds of Christmas trees scattered on the ground still in their protective wrapping, cheesy lights and pennants, plus a white step van that had to be a hundred years old. This is where I would spend the next 6 hours or so.

I opened the sliding door to the step van letting the blizzard in that was raging outside. Looking inside I found Bobby and Mac huddled around a pot bellied stove. They looked like two hobo's on the side of railroad tracks cooking pork and beans. And yes, they were cooking baked beans in the pot.

Bobby looked up, hunger and cold in his eyes, noticed my Arby's roast beef sandwiches, then looked back at the beans in the pot. At that moment, I feared for my life. (It was like Thunderdome now. Two men enter, one man leaves. The rules are, there ain't no rules) I quickly ate my sandwiches as I made nonsense chit chat. Mac didn't move. He just huddled around the stove that was giving off the only heat in a quarter square mile radius.

Bob and Mac then showed me the ropes. Reluctantly we left the step van to brave the cold weather. They marched me around the lot, (Universe) showing me the rope spool, (To tie down the trees we sold to the cars of the customers) the Christmas tree stands that went with the trees, and of course rows and rows of neatly stacked Christmas trees.

Each tree had a colored tag with a price on it according to size and type of tree. Type of tree? WTF was that? Apparently there were many different varieties. There were Blue Spruce, Douglas Fir, White Pine, Scotch Pine, Fraser Fir, Balsam, Noble, and Grand Fir. I was under the impression they were all just green pine trees. (Who knew?) The tour was over and Bob and Mac raced back to the shelter of the step van and the pot bellied stove.

As fate would have it, I didn't sell a single tree that day. Nor the next. Or the next. Bob and Mac sold a few here and there but not me. I did help Mac strap and tie a few trees to the roof of customers cars. One fell off before he got off the lot.

At the end of the day Bob said his feet were freezing and couldn't get them warm standing out in the snow all day. I didn't have the heart to tell him about my electric socks.

Merry Christmas! And buy an artificial tree this year.

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

Riding The Christmas Tree

Looking at the calendar seeing November rapidly fading I can almost hear the gears begin to shift into the high glee of the Christmas spirit. With my vantage point, I can see the traffic congestion, thousands of cars filled with happy shoppers waiting for hours to save 5 bucks on a four-slice toaster.

But this blog ain’t about the lead up to Christmas, it’s the after effects of the holiday season, or more precise, the tradition of taking down the tree. (Rest assured, there will be a very soon blog on the tradition of putting the Christmas tree up, from the old days of going out and cutting down a fresh tree to the current artificial tree scenario we have right now.)

Happy New Year!!! Yes January 1st is here and the tree is still in the corner. Our two wild cats have already picked it clean of all their favorite baubles and trinkets leaving a smattering of tidings and joy scattered throughout the house. You haven’t lived until you see silver tinsel in the cat box. And it didn’t fall in there either. Yet I digress yet again.

The dismantling of the tree and storing it away was always a chore. Taking down all the ornaments that the cats didn’t like and putting them back in their boxes, unwrapping the garland strings and folding it ever so nicely back into its boxes, unwinding the several thousand lights that when at full illumination, burned my retina’s out and I couldn’t see for two full days.

And yes, the lights always seem to get tangled into a big ball and it takes quite awhile and plenty of patience to get them all wound up in the right coiled position so next year when they are unpacked, they are not in a big ass ball.

Finally, the tree is bare and I bring the tree box from the basement and center it in the living room. Taking out the old newspapers from years past that I use to cover the tree, (I don’t know why I do that) I begin with the treetop and it pops right off. I set it on top of the lazy boy couch.
The tree is in sections and comes apart fairly easily. This part takes all of five minutes. I then pack each section carefully in the box, put the treetop in and the poles and the tree stand. I then put the old newspapers on top and tape up the box readying it for its journey and dormant sleep for another year in the basement.

I pushed the tree box to the kitchen door and positioned it in front of the basement stairs. Gently and slowly I lifted the tree box beginnings its journey down the steps. Then it happened. I guess my tennis shoes were untied for I stepped on the laces and tripped and fell right on top of the tree box. A split second later, I was inside the tree box sleeping with the branches, and a split second after that I was riding the damn Christmas tree down the basement steps.

Thump, Thump, Thump, times 15 steps. My heart was pounding and my mind went blank. (My wife says hard to believe huh?) The ride was over in a nanosecond. The box slip safely to a halt about five feet on the basement floor. I jumped out of that box like a Jack-In-The-Box tightly wound. Feeling nothing broken I started to laugh. I sat down on the floor cracking up thinking that this episode would have been perfect for America’s Funniest home movies. Where’s the damn web cam when you need them?

Later that day I told my wife Patty of my most eventful day. She looked at me in shock, asked if I was OK, and then proceeded to bust out in laughter calling me by her pet name she made up for me. “You idiot, you’re lucky you didn’t kill yourself.” Yes dear, but at least the Christmas tree was stowed away for another year and I got a free ride down the steps.

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL