The tree is down and gone....

I hate taking the Christmas trees down!

     I like a live tree.  And yes, they are environmentally sound.  I go to a cut your own field and, duh, cut my own.  No wasted trees cut and not sold.  No trees cut in November then spray painted green to make them appealing.  I get a tree for us.  And I bring it home and kvetch about putting it up, decorating it, watering it.

     But when we light it at night, I get hypnotized.  I've cut trees that were bare on one side, trees that had lopsided trunks, a tree that was rounder than it was tall and last year a 12 foot tree that was bare on the bottom six foot, which made for a nice tree.  Put the lights on, and the ornaments, and it is always beautiful.

     I get a little sentimental at Christmas.  (Which is like saying the Titanic had a leak.)  I love the season, love the reason, and I always feel I am not doing enough for the less fortunate.  And there are a lot of them in our world these days.

     I also remember family.  My mother, father, brother, the crazy aunts and uncles, the cousins and second cousins.  I remember the huge family gatherings.  Then I look around and realize now our gatherings are not that large.

     I had a relative named Minkie.  I am not sure kind of relative she was.  She may have been my uncle's mother.  Or cousin.  Or his aunt.  I only knew her as Minkie.  She always made Scottish shortbread at Christmas.  Made it in a pie plate so  each family would get a round of lightly browned, crisp, sweet shortbread.  She made dozens of them each year.  I asked her for the recipe, and she told me.  She didn't have it written down, she just knew how to make it.

     It's funny, in a way, how little I know about her.  She was Scottish, had an accent, and taught me how to drink pink tea.  Her way:  pour tea in a cup from the tea pot, add some sugar and milk until it turns pink, then pour a little into your saucer and slurp it noisily from the saucer.  

     She was an expert at it.  My mother complained about the stains on my shirts.

     I lost Minkie when I was about 20.....and I lost her recipe.  Try as I might, I could not quite get the taste right.  Then one year in fifth grade a little girl named Mae brought me some home made shortbread and it was just as good as Minkie's.  I asked for that recipe, and now I make a couple of batches each Christmas.

     I know I can conjure up those memories on any other day of the year, but at Christmas all those people come alive again.  I can hear them, see them, smell them.  And I can taste Minkie's shortbread.

     In recent years, Julia has come home for Christmas and leaves shortly after.  This year she stayed an extra week and is leaving Tuesday, Jan. 7, if the forces of nature cooperate.

    I keep thinking of Christmas stays up, she'll still be here.  And I won't feel so sad.

    So when Jackie said it was time to take the tree down.....needles were falling like crazy and it had long since stopped taking up water...... I didn't.  I waited, hoping to keep Christmas around just a little while longer.  I wanted to hold those memories just a few hours more.

    But now it is down.  And recycled.  And I am just a little bit sad that it will be almost one year before I go to a cut your own field, find a misshaped tree, bring it home, decorate it, light it and be with my entire family again.