Christmas tree shopping

Not much. We go to this same funky garden store every year where a guy with major dreads stuffed under a Rasta hat sells us our Christmas tree, a wreath and a couple of poinsettias. This year there were six trees standing outside when we pulled up.

Not much of a selection but then we only needed one. And the right one was leaning against the doorway. I like the efficiency of limited choice.

We had our choice of two remaining gargantuan poinsettias, one that had already been wrapped and one that hadn’t. Want a poinsettia, these would be them. Pick. Both or either were too big to put anywhere in my house. They needed their own greenhouse and maybe some wee elves to tend them at night when we are sleeping. Bring in the poinsettia sheaves and all that.

The wrapped one or the one formerly known as wrapped now is sitting on its own table in an area of the dining room that we cleared for the duration. We can eat in the kitchen.

The wreath was also an easy choice. You got your artificial ones for the cemetery and your real ones for the living. Looking at cemetery wreaths strung on the peg board made me sad that I’d never done anything to bring Christmas to my parents’ graves in Michigan. I go just once a year over Memorial Day and never consider other holidays. I wonder if their grave neighbors are decked out. Christmas inadequacy lies buried in many places. Get it? Buried? Hilarious.

The live wreath choice came down to a red ribbon or a purple one. We labored not over this, going right for the red. Purple is wonderful and when I’m an old lady, I shall wear purple, but right now I’m hanging on to red. The wreath is adorable, loaded with kitschy stuff, glitter and little birds. It’s hanging on the front porch right now, adorning us.

We did all this astonishing shopping in under five minutes including the time it took Rasta Gardener to level off the tree’s trunk and for us to load everything in the truck. Our granddaughter, with us for this strange little excursion for the umpteenth year, pranced and skipped her way around the sawdust and was about as merry as a person could be.

There’s a lot of that going around. Merriment, that is.

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