The Last Christmas Tree... my holiday gift to you

-->

It was a ‘Charlie Brown Christmas tree,’ even before there was a Charlie Brown. It stood almost six-feet tall with a crooked trunk and so few scraggly branches that you could almost call it a stick. As my sister and I dragged it home, we left a trail of needles from Grandpa’s store to the house where he and Grandma lived, just a block away.

In a word, it was WORRYSOME. How could this pitiful specimen ever become a ‘real’ Christmas tree?

Dad was in the Navy, gone now three years fighting World War II. The three of us, mom, my kid sister and me, lived in on a brick-paved street in a tiny rental house that was owned by grandma and grandpa who lived next door. This is where we moved when dad was called to serve our country. Our rent was $20 a month… or not, depending on if we had the money.

Between our house and the store was an alley, used mostly by garbage trucks… like the one that hit and almost killed me once when I raced across in my Radio Flyer wagon without looking. But that was another time. On the other side of the alley was Frasco Brothers’ Corner Grocery Store. It belonged to grandpa and his brother, our Uncle August. His family lived above the store. The Frasco brothers were Italian immigrants who came to Peoria, Illinois through Ellis Island in 1903. The Frasco men found their calling in groceries and, after establishing themselves, sent for their families. Mom and dad were both first generation American born.

It was the morning of December 24^th, that long time ago. My younger sister and I were so excited. Not only was tomorrow the BIG DAY but right now, we would get to put up grandma’s Christmas tree… and that thrilled us beyond telling. This was only our second time… but this year, we got to do it (almost) all by ourselves. Grandma’s house was the center of our family Christmas.

Because of the war, the scarcity of some food products limited what could be bought, but everyone went all out for Christmas and Frasco Brothers’ was the only place folks around here shopped. The nearest Kroger was still 41 years away. And who wouldn’t choose a neighborhood grocer who knew every customer by both first and last name and delivered free in a horse drawn wagon… until the first Model T truck was purchased.

Grandpa (Butch—short for butcher—or Teddy, they called him) and Uncle August carried many of their customers ‘on the books’ with full knowledge that some debts would never be paid, “…because widow Johnson doesn’t have the money and we can’t let her go hungry,” or “Tony just had a big hospital bill because of Mary’s operation,” or “Mrs. Melvin lost her husband in Italy and still has three small kids to raise… “

The customer always came first at Frasco Brothers’ and this went double when it came to Christmas trees. Grandma always got whatever was left, usually around Christmas Eve, after Grandpa had called all his customers who didn’t have their trees yet. “No money this year, Mrs. Albert… who said you needed money for a Christmas tree? We are saving the best for you. Want us to drop it off?”

This year, there was just one left for grandma… the best … the only… but, as grandpa said, we had the chance to help God make our own beautiful tree. So… Over the alley and through the neighborhood, to grandmother’s house we drug… that poor, mangy stump of a tree, while pulling our wagon filled with the extra branches that fell from other, long-ago-purchased trees, a card of thumb-tacks and a ball of green butcher’s twine.

“Look,” Grandpa showed us, “ with just some extra branches, thumb-tacks and string, this will be the best tree of all.”

Grandma smiled as she greeted us at her door. ”My, what a wonderful tree we have this year.” (We later learned that she always said that.) “I just know you will make it so that baby Jesus himself will want to lie in our manger.”

Now we knew…the fate of Christmas was in our hands.

From the attic’s drop-down stairs came the boxes of heirloom ornaments older than we were and the rag-tag, impossibly jumbled strands of mixed lights that sometimes did, but mostly didn’t work. With the patience of the knitting and crocheting whiz that she was, grandma would carefully untangle, and then try every single light to find ones causing problems, replacing all that needed replacing. Sometime, she even had to repair the flimsy wire that tied them electrically together. Eventually, we had full strings of working, blinking Christmas lights… and we were thrilled!

Our attention turned to that miserable specimen of a tree lying on the parlor’s tile floor. I picked it up and settled the tree’s base into the stand. With grandma’s keen eye, she judged the best angle of the crooked trunk and my sister held it in place while I tightened the stand’s screws. Our ‘Charlie Brown ‘tree was soon able to stand as straight as possible without being held.

We all stood back and surveyed our work so far. “Hmm… ” Finally, grandma nodded, “Just right! Kids, get those branches and let’s get started.” Grandma was an amazing woman.

We hummed Christmas carols as we worked… and thumb-tack by thumb-tack, grandma began attaching extra branches to the trunk while I tied supporting strings higher up the tree.

We gently layered our tree with all the working Christmas bulbs… and oohed and aahed when they actually lit the tree. 

Grandma then had to leave us to get grandpa’s lunch on the table for their big noontime meal.  Grandpa opened the market at 6 am and, after finishing cleanup chores when the store closed 12 hours later, his feet hurt… and he was too tired to eat much before he fell into a hard-snoring slumber on his favorite chair… six days a week.

Sis and I stayed busy, fully consumed with our important task. We were a well-oiled team, happier at our task than at any other time of the year.

Ornament-by-ornament, our scraggly leftover started to look like a real Christmas tree. The topper was, of course, the most beautiful star you could ever imagine. Grandma made it out of yellow felt and red ribbon. She used the ladder to put it atop the tree, and after a few ‘tippy’ moments, she had it looking ‘just right,’ even if it was a tad off center. Then we wrapped the tree in popcorn and ribbon garland and draped it with so much silver tinsel that Santa himself couldn’t tell it wasn’t perfect.

Finally, our favorite part--we unpacked the manger and carefully unwrapped all the characters… the camels, the wise men, the sheep and shepherd, the angel, Mary, Joseph… and the baby Jesus.

It was my sister who lovingly laid Him in the manger. We stood back… and after an appreciating pause, we sang Away in a Manger and Silent Night. This was the first moment when we really felt the meaning of the season in our hearts. And of course, ours was the most beautiful Christmas tree ever!

As we stood there in reflected silence and pride, we knew Christmas meant hope, love and peace. But mostly, I think, hope. Please bring our dad home… and all the dads and brothers and sons and daughters. End the war… please end the war. And let us all do unto others, as we would have them do unto us…

All wasn’t right with the world that Christmas, but we believed it would be again, someday… sooner, we prayed, than later.

.

So, with hope abounding: Happy Christmas to all… and to all, a good night.

Jerry C.

Any shoes look great if you are cool enough to wear them... and cute enough too!

Five Fingers is the name, running's the game. And if you've never tried them, you should... or shouldn't. It depends.

Now this extra-cute runner is my grandchild, and she and her younger brother run and run and run. Their school has a great cross-country program for almost all ages. She runs 3ks and her brother runs 2ks... and they both post better times than me. (Darned kids!)

But let's talk shoes. I have been running in my Vibram Five Fingers (there are other brands) for almost 2,000 miles now... and they show it. In 'regular shoes,' I should have bought a new pair months ago... but that was with 'regular shoes." I think the idea here is to simulate barefoot running without getting the soles of your feet pierced by sharp rocks, so a hole simply means 'closer to perfection,' I guess... or cheapness.

My running partner, Abby

I went this route after I heard a talk by barefoot advocate Christopher McDougall, author of Born to Run. And because my running style is almost all heel, I figured I had nothing to loose by trying. And I was right! It works terrific for me. I am fairly flat-footed and was never mistaken for a gazelle... a blue-footed booby, maybe, but never a gazelle. Don't laugh though... I have never had feet, knee or hip problems and that is good.

These funny looking 'things' were just my thing. While I slap the ground so loudly that I could never sneak up on anyone, I run with so much less effort. My time and distance, though still not near world record standards, improved, and I loved the feel. Winter or summer, wet or dry, this is for me. The feeling of freedom and being one with nature really does give a spiritual boost to your ego.

As Confucius (551-479 BCE) say: "Running shoes without toes like chicken without happiness... both smell when step in dog poop." Or was that Charlie Chan?

If you have a high arch, or are perfectly content with your clunky shoes, or don't want to be outnumbered or laughed at, these probably won't work for you... no matter how cool like us you want to be. So just tuck in behind and draft until we get tired of you and turn it on.

"I vant to be alone." Fat chance Greta!

Greta Garbo

"I vant to be alone" (so she had a sexy accent) was the famous quote many old-time movie buffs remember her by. Greta Garbo (1905-1990), was a reclusive Swedish born movie star and pin-up queen at a time when America fell in love with 'the cinema.' Her sensual, mysterious look made her a hit, both in silent and sound films before World War II.

Indians catching a train ride

Maybe it was easier then, but wanting to be alone just won't cut it today. Just ask Lindsay Lohan, Kate Middleton, J-Lo... or anyone in India... the world is a crowded place... and growing more-so at a rapidly increasing pace.

Russia's 125-mile long traffic jam

Perhaps Russia, with all its enormous land mass, would be a better option. I DON'T THINK SO. Motorists recently had to sit out a week-long, 125-mile-long traffic jam (take that, Los Angeles)... and the weather could be better.

Wyoming? Maybe, but once you've seen all the splendors in nature, what next?

Perhaps one of the Voyager probes nearing outer space could have been an option. Launched in 1973 and traveling at a mere 35,000 miles-per-hour, these two space craft have put more than 11 billion miles between us and them. It takes 17 hours for anything they transmit to reach us. They are so far 'out there' that even Matt Lauer couldn't play "Where in the world... " because they aren't even in our solar system any more....

And their voyage is just beginning.

Now the real kicker: when 'the (hypothetical) kids whine, "Are we there yet? I have to go to the bathroom," the nearest star (not counting our sun) is Alpha Centauri, just 4 1/2 light years further.

"Just cork it kids! I'm going as fast as I can."