Sister Here lives here in the woods. Sister There doesn't live here. She lives there.
Sister Here recalled the Treks to the HyVee store to get the annual Christmas Tree. The conversation and multiple cups of the Elixir of Knowledge brought back memories of a Christmas tradition I had almost forgotten.
We kids are basically two years apart. I'm the oldest, then Sister Here, and then Sister There. It was around 4th or 5th grade my time when we began the Treks.
They began when Mom thought we could cross Merle Hay Road on our own without becoming roadkill.
We grew up fast, and I mean FAST! We could duck a truck with the best of 'em.
The day of the Trek would find us being shrink-wrapped in coats by Mom. It was usually a cold, windy day but you didn't want to lose that edge needed to duck trucks. Speed trumped warmth. The near-death experience of air horns and skidding tires could keep us warm for days. Even if naked.
We took my sled since it was the biggest and off we'd go, waddling toward an adrenaline-laced game of Reality Frogger and the hope of the perfect tree.
All the Christmas trees waited our arrival, leaning patiently against the side of the HyVee Grocery Store in a long, forest-like double layer.
The trees all suffered from a bad case of bed head due to layering in the back of a semi trailer. This meant that each tree had to be fluffed and thoroughly investigated. Sometimes twice if we didn't recognize it again.
We would begin to pick through the temporary forest, holding them up, dropping them, propping them back up only to have them fall in the other direction. Balsam and pine pitch soon made our mittens amazingly waterproof but tacky as 3M PostIts. Nose wiping became a sticky issue.
We didn't realize it at the time, but the same thing would happen every year. There was the annual dragging-holding-dropping of the trees until we found the One.
Then there would be the Blessing to make it official.
Usually Sister There, the youngest, was the first to find it. She had an eye for such things.
If it had been a dog, it would be the runt of the litter with no tail, a case of mange, and a missing ear. Actually, if it had been a dog it would've looked better.
There. That was the One.
And then came the Blessing.
"It looks lonely."
"No one will take this one home. It'll be left by itself!"
"Don't worry, little tree, we love you."
"Dad is gonna kill us!"
Now it was official. Onto the sled it went, to be towed back home with happy hearts, quick feet, and more adrenaline.
Chattering excitedly as the layers were peeled away, we told Mom about the cutest, most loveable tree in the world. She would smile sadly while muttering about "another one of those, huh?"
Eventually, she got to the point where she wouldn't even go outside to look at it. She'd just get the tools ready and have fresh pot of coffee ready for Dad when he got home.
Three Christmases after our initial Trek, an American Holiday tradition was born. Coca-Cola decided to sponsor "A Charlie Brown Christmas".
And guess what kinda tree ol' Chuck brought back?
Yep. He found the One.
We kids were geniuses, ahead of our time.
But Dad had another way of phrasing it.
I don't think he liked Charlie Brown.