Jan. 03, 2004 - 19:52 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

The Score ?

Its a game you know. Early on Heather said we wouldn't put a Christmas tree up this year. Wide eyed in amazement I asked her, "Why ?" She said, "We will be elsewhere most of the time so why bother." I felt her forehead and looked into her eyes, no fever, no wild eyes. So I thanked my lucky stars, thinking that I wouldn't have to struggle to put up the old one that has seen years of combat with me. And I didn't.

Close to Christmas Heather informed me, "I'm looking for a pre-lit Christmas tree but they are all too expensive." The day before Christmas Eve she found a six footer that she thought we could afford, so off to K-Mart we went. Bought it, put the seat down and shoved it in the car and took it home.

When I got a buggy and bought it to our car Heather told me to also bring up the new tree. Silently shaking my head a bit I took the tree up with the rest of the stuff. When I got into the apartment she said, "Can you put it in the warehouse until I can get around to putting it in the storage locker after Christmas ?" This "warehouse" is a large room of ours here where everything goes that can't go anywhere else. I managed to put it up on a teetering pile, dusted my hands and said, "There !" Heather put all her other Christmas items out, of which there are many and we went through Christmas, happily.

Last night she said, "First thing in the morning I have a little job for you to do." I replied, "First after coffee and pills, you got me babe." I had noticed her packing up her Christmas stuff but figured, its her game. She said, "I'll be done here in a bit and then you can come in and work." Near one thirty she told me she was clear and I could come in.

Reporting for duty she laid this on me, "I've been thinking that we must put the new tree up and make sure it is working before we store it." My walls came tumbling down. I pushed the coffee table into a corner by the couch and easy chair and moved other stuff out of the way. Brought the box out and proceeded to remove those horrendous staples in a way that wouldn't damage the box, so that the tree could be repacked in it. Pulled out three bundles of stuff and a plastic bag with instructions and the base. Plastic it is, a five piecer. Legs supposed to easily slide into the hub. Easy my foot, I pounded with the heel of my hand until it was bruised and muttering in my beard, got my hammer and banged them into place. Luckily nothing broke. Then unwrapping the plastic covered bundles in such a way that they could be used to repack the tree the first section was put into the base. I found out that the limbs had to be put into place in a certain sequence and when I did so put the middle section in, then the top section all after the appropriate unwrapping.

Then the search was on for the cords and connectors. Finding I had to rotate the sections a bit to put the cords in position that was done, muttering between clenched teeth. All hooked up and I discovered that the cord would not reach so I had to move the erected tree three feet plus to be able to plug into a wall receptacle. Whee, I plugged it in and it lit up like a (guess) Christmas tree. All but the bottom section. Another hunt ensued, cord found and the connector, plugged in and voila. So, it works !

Heather sat and gazed at the tree with great enjoyment. I found a place to sit, leaned back to rest. She turned her head toward me and before she spoke I put this in, "It is five thirty in the evening, already I'm a half hour into overtime. What say I take it down tomorrow morning ?" She said, "Okay, first thing in the morning." "Yup, right after coffee and pills."

Status is now quo, lit tree in the middle of the living room, Heather sitting on the couch rather than her chair so that she can see past the tree to watch TV and I'm making an entry.

Christmas tree fun and games. Not sure where I stand, I didn't have to struggle to get a tree up and lit before Christmas . . . . but. A few yards gained here, a few yards lost there and I sort of lost track, I'm really not sure, what's The Score ? . . . . . . . . .

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