When I was growing up, we always had a real tree, though I don't remember how I felt about the experience of having a real tree. I don't remember picking one out that we thought was perfect, driving it home, smelling the pine (a scent that I don't care for), and happily decorating it with ornaments. What I remember most about having a real tree were the pine needles... they pricked me as I was decorating, walking by, or if I just looked at the tree wrong. The tree shed its needles like a dog sheds fur. They were all over the floor, the furniture, me. It seemed to have a never ending supply of needles to drop on the floor.
I was responsible for cleaning them, which could explain my very fixed memory. I'm sure I didn't have to do so when I was younger, but I don't remember those times. I vacuumed after the tree was set up. I vacuumed every couple of days when the tree shed more needles... and then again... and then again... whenever a newly wrapped present was added... whenever the tree was watered...
After Christmas came the epitome of pine needles... when the tree was dried up and pretty much dead. It seemed as though the tree was attempting to get rid of every last needle before we could get rid of it! And there I was... vacuuming away.
Needless to say, as an adult, I do not buy real trees. It is all fake for me! I'm so happy pulling it out of its box and putting it up and I'm happy breaking it down and putting it back in its box after New Years. I am forgiving when the wire branches sometimes poke me and when I still have to vacuum up relatively few "pine needles"!! I'm just grateful to have a non-shedding, scentless, never drying up and turning yellow tree. The cons of a fake tree are nothing compared to the magnitude of a childhood memory.
|My beautiful well-loved fake Christmas tree in all its glory!|