Trees or Trucks? Joyce Oroz

So, I’m sitting around with a gimpy left hand, thinking I should get in the spirit and shop for presents and write Christmas cards. All my excuses are gone—can’t stall much longer. I’m driving again, I write with my right hand and a credit works very well with a right-handed swipe. What am I waiting for? And then it hits me.

The Tree!

That is the first step into the season of joy. My husband will accompany me to the local hardware store parking lot (dragging both feet) where the trees are thick and nicely shaped into unnatural cones. Once we begin looking, the looking never stops—even though I spotted the one I want in the first two minutes. He looks for things like size, price and freshness. I rely on my intuition. It’s the emotional attachment between me and the tree that counts.

Even though I love Charlie Brown, as an adult, I could never settle for a Charlie Brown Tree. I have too many ornaments.

I grew up in the middle of a forest with a family of wolves—I mean hunters. My family loved to hunt for the perfect Christmas tree. After a refreshing hike through damp, rotting leaves, we would see our pray, a humble, trembling little redwood tree that looked anemic on one side and pathetic on the other.

As proud hunters, my brother and sister and I would tug-a-war with the cut tree as we tried to be the one to bravely drag it home.

I think Josephine would handle Christmas in a different way. She would let the little tree live. Why waste decorations on the tree when you have a red truck?

I’m starting to feel joy—hope you are too!


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