UNIT 21 The Perfect Christmas Tree
The fresh green smell of Christmas filled the house
and the sight of the tree took your breath away.
Striped candy canes were evenly distributed
and colorful paper chains,
swans, lambs, donkeys and horses
draped aesthetically on the branches
to compliment the red and gold bulbs.
The white silvery winged angel stood at the very top
watching over the entire tree.
I also placed a cassette player
for some Christmas songs.
It was a beautiful tree;
and I knew it deserved a good feedback.
Morris, that’s my husband’s nickname,
said I was a fanatic about my tree.
I couldn’t help it.
It was just my way.
It was a lovely tree,
from the angel on top to the miniature manger
my great grandfather made underneath.
Grandma told us he carved it
the first year they were married.
She loved telling stories of knitting scarves
and mittens for presents.
They lived on the plains in a small clay
and lumber house for their first four years.
When Laura and I were children,
story telling became an integral
part of the family’s tradition.
It was the climax of every night.
We put the manger under the tree
when the decoration was done
and waited for Christmas Eve
when Papa read the Bible stories.
Only then were we ready to put the Baby in the manger.
Laura has eleven grandchildren and we have two.
Cindy and Mark,
my daughter Joanne’s identicaltwins,
are 14 years old and live in Kansas City.
We’ll see them in February,
but I do miss them all at Christmas.
It seems a shame how families move away,
but I am thankful for the invention of telephone.
That night I admired the tree critically.
“Morris, don’t you think it’s a pretty tree?”
My husband looked up from his periodical and said,
“yes, Cora, overall it’s a very nice tree,as always.”
We plugged the lights in when the sun went down
and ate peanut butter sandwiches and cheesecakes.
I looked at the tree and couldn’t denote
why it didn’t seem to be perfect enough.
“Cut it out,Cora, you’ll make yourself crazy.
It’s a very nice tree, really.
Come on look, it’s snowing,”
his words led me to the opaque bay through the window.
I sat down on the sofa next to my husband
and picked up the TV Guide.
Just as Morris pushed the “ON” button
to watch a basketball tournament,
the doorbell rang.
The man who pushed the bell
was covered with the new fallen snow.
He was dressed warmly enough
but he looked as though
he had been outside a long time.
“Please, may I use your telephone?” he asked.
There had been so many warnings
about people doing horrible things
once they got into someone’s house,
my first thought was don’t let him in.
“I have had car trouble,
my car battery got busted,” he said.
“I had to walk about a mile
before I saw your chi
mney smoke
and the lights shinning in the window.
I guess a lot of people aren’t hometonight.”
He looked so cold and before I could evaluate