“Play it once, Sam, for old times’ sake.”
Well, from this “pen” there is this from Dec. 12, 2009; not exactly a forever, but:
“In the beginning, an itinerant seed salesman by the name of Cecil Cedarseed wandered the land from sea to shining sea.
“A sample sack of cedar tree seeds began to leak from Cecil Cedarseed’s travels. The result was that the earth began to begat cedar trees all over the place, including my grandfather’s farm.
“It was in the early years, walking hill and dale with ax over shoulder, that I began to dislike Cecil Cedarseed. It wasn’t until Sears & Roebuck, then located at 17th and Noble, began to begat a vastly improved “cedar tree” that I finally felt a bit of forgiveness for ol’ Cecil.”
I also began to appreciate what God could have done had He had a bit of money. And so it was that in “that time” we bought our very first artificial tree.
I’ve told you about “her” before, that she was a lovely lady, especially when all gussied up with lights. I would spend quiet moments with her after the rest of the family had bedded down for the night. I would talk to her — told you that, too — and while she never talked back, she blinked at me a lot. You can lay that off on her lights, but in my heart I knew it was her, not the lights.
Anyway, to cut a long story short (which I haven’t done), a third generation tree is now standing in the corner of the living room. She came out of hiding a week or so ago and after I did a bit of assembly, the blonde and a young lady by the name of Courtney (she’s family) did this year’s “gussying up.”
Fine job, too.
But there are a couple of things.
Artificial tree number one was named “Ellen.” I tagged her that one night (maybe the apple cider was acting up) while we were alone. The name “Ellen” came when it occurred to me that she and I were meeting Same Time, Next Year as did Ellen Burstyn and Alan Alda in a movie of the same name.
Their relationship included certain acts not even considered between “my” Ellen (she was, after all, a tree) and me.
Since Ellen left (retired after 20 years or so), we are now on a third “artificial.”
Before this one, it was “Gaudy Maudy,” of whom I wrote rather sparingly. “Gaudy” was as skinny as a bedpost and not even the lights of Christmas could hide that rather pitiable fact. She just never got into my heart and was treated with some disdain by the blonde. It was she who hung the “Gaudy Maudy” tag on her.
We didn’t retire Gaudy. We simply carried her out to the county landfill and drove away without so much as a backward glance.
We are now (to cut a long story short which I haven’t) on Artificial Tree Number Three. I know that’s not much of a name, but even after three years, nothing comes to me.
Oh, she’s right good looking, sort of between “Ellen,” who was a bit on the plump side, and the scarecrow that was “Gaudy Maudy.”
But I suspect something will come to me … and soon.
After all, for the last couple of nights, with fresh coffee in hand (that cider was leading me toward rehab), I’ve spent some quiet moments with her (after the blonde bedded down).
She doesn’t hold me close as “Ellen” did, but she doesn’t make me want to get up and “water her” as did “Gaudy Maudy.”
So there you have it … and, to cut a long story short … well, how ’bout right now?
George Smith can be reached at 256-239-5286 or e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org