Getting it Right

 “Wow! That has to be the most amazing tree we’ve ever had!”

Sally grinned at me. “Right?” She moved forward and adjusted one of the lights. “I knew as soon as I saw it that it had to be ours!”

Mort spoke up, “And what makes it truly amazing is the fact that it fits in here like it was made for the space!”

Mom, Peter and I looked around.

Mort had a point. This front, ‘living room’ part of Sally’s house (well, technically, it belongs to her, but the rest of us, except for Peter, also call it home.) with its 30-foot vaulted ceiling, is perfect for a 29-and-a-half-foot tree.

Which is what we were looking at.

A tree that, according to Sally, was just sitting there at the Tree Corral (astute business name) at the end of the block, surrounded by boxes and packing crates and largely being ignored by the passers-by.

Mort and Sally opened the nearest box of decorations and pulled out our tree star.

“Hmmm . . .” Mom said. “Perhaps it’s time for a new one?”

I probably don’t have to say it—that star has been through a lot.

“Mort and I will do that later!” Sally said.

Mom nodded as she also opened a box. Then she looked up at the tree. “I think this is the first tree with enough space for all of our decorations.” She looked at Peter. "Could you fetch the ladder?"

He nodded and disappeared.

Sally’s mouth was a round ‘O’ of excitement. “Seriously?! ALL the decorations?” She dove for another in the stack of boxes. “Even these?” She began to pull out the decorations that were . . . less than perfect. And far from the quality found in your average dollar store at Christmas time. These were the nearest and dearest to her heart. Those she and I had made during our years of school. The flocked, tattered snowmen that had spent as much time in our hands during the season as they had on the tree. The penguins, Santas, angels, farm animals and puppies, ditto; each painstakingly crafted from toilet-paper rolls, wire, string, pipe-cleaners, the occasional light bulb, and tons (and tons) of glue.

Happily, Sally and Mort began to find places for them in the grasshopper-green boughs.

“It’s pretty amazing that you managed to get a pre-lit one,” Mom said as she began stringing endless swaths of garland around the wide girth of the tree.

“I know!” Sally giggled. “I have to keep pinching myself to know that this is real!”

“Well, if you get tired of pinching yourself, I’m happy to help,” I put in.

Sally stuck out her tongue at me. Then reached for another handful of ornaments.

It took the better part of an hour, but, eventually, the five of us managed to empty every. Single. Box.

Whew.

All that was left was the star at the top.

We were standing, looking from our tattered veteran to that one empty spot when the doorbell rang.

Peter, who had just stepped into the kitchen for a glass of water hollered from the front entryway, “I’ll get it!”

The four of us stayed where we were, enjoying the sight of the oversized tree in the oversized spot.

“I thought you might be able to use this,” a deep voice said.

We turned.

Our Peter’s Uncle Peter was standing in the doorway, holding up an oversized star.

Huh. How did he know . . .?

Mom hurried over to him, hand outstretched. “Pete! I’m so glad you could come!”

You have to know that the rest of the household has been watching this developing friendship for over a month now. Let’s face it, when a man’s first introduction to a family includes being covered from tip to toe in paint—and he returns—there is something going on.

He set the star down, took Mom’s hand in both of his and smiled at her, his sun-browned face crinkling at the corners. At times like this, his resemblance to his nephew, our Peter, is remarkable.

“A little bird told me you might need this.” He picked up the star.

I looked at Peter, who winked.

“It’s perfect, Pete!” Mom smiled at him and, for just a moment, my heart turned over. I mean, how awesome would it be for Mom to find someone after all these years alone? My eyes turned unwillingly toward Sally. Well . . . nearly alone.

He and Mom moved toward the tree. “The only challenge is how to get it up there.”

“I can do it!” Sally sang out.

My heart stopped. Please, no.

“We just need the right tool,” Uncle Pete said. “And the talent! I think Mary’s trusty step ladder, here, and a couple of men named Peter can get the job done.”

I started breathing again.

Three minutes later, it was done. Uncle Pete plugged the star into the top string of lights and his nephew plugged the other end into the wall and we were in business.

The tree lit up from bottom to top.

It was . . . magical.

Uncle Pete grinned down at my mom, then turned for a final look at his star before beginning the climb back down. His eyes were drawn to something outside our window. “Huh,” he said. “Why are the cops here?”

Mom’s face went pale and her eyes went, out of habit, to Sally. “C-cops?”

Sally shrugged and wandered back to the tree, adjusting a couple of ornaments. 

“Sally?”

She propped her hands on her hips. “Why does everyone always think it’s something to do with me?”

“Because it usually is,” I said.

Sally sighed. “All Mort and I did this morning was go to the lot. Throw some money at the man. Push the tree over onto the car. And drive home!”

Mom scratched her head. “Really?”

“Really!”

Just then the front doorbell rang.

I clutched Peter’s hand. A reflex thing.

Sally hopped happily to the door and swung it wide. “Hello, officers! Come in!”

“Hey, Sally!” one of the officers said. “We’re here to investigate a theft.” He and his partner stepped into the foyer, which opened directly into the front room—in full view of our new tree. He looked up at it. “Of this tree.”

“Wha-at?” Mom looked like she was going to faint. Uncle Pete put an arm around her.

Sally spoke up. “I didn’t steal it! I bought it!”

The officer frowned. “The tree-lighting coordinator reported it stolen.”

Sally stared at him. “What does she have to do with it?”

“Apparently she and her crew were in the process of decorating. Then they took a break. When they came back, it was gone.”

Sally blinked.

I stared at her. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen her actually . . . react to one of her own conflicts.

 “Well why was it at the lot?”

“It was beside the lot.”

“Oh.”

Mort spoke up. “Sally just threw $200.00 at the man and he told her to take any tree.”

Sally shrugged. “I thought that included this one.”

The officers looked at Sally. Then at the tree. Then at Sally again.

“I’m happy to pay the extra,” Sally put in.

One officer stepped back and looked at the great front doors. Then at the tree. Then back at the doors. He grinned at Sally. “How about we come to an agreement?”

It took all of us. We managed to peel off our more precious decorations and speed the tree out those doors and onto our lawn, where it was set up in lonely glory for all to see.

The neighbourhood celebrations were moved to the area of the park across the street and, by the time they started, no one even remembered that Sally (and Mort) had mistakenly stolen Christmas.

The neighbourhood donated a much smaller tree to the Hart household, which was duly decorated, in the shade of its much larger brother in the front yard.

And you know what? In spite of Sally—or maybe because of her, all was merry and bright.

Proving that, sometimes--not often--she gets it right.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

Use Your Words is a writing challenge. Each month we participants donate several words and/or phrases to our noble leader, Karen, who then re-distributes them.

The catch is, none of us knows who will get our words and what will be done with them.

Totally fun!

My words this month were: conflict ~ grasshopper ~ peel ~ speed ~ tool And given to me, by my friend Rena at:  https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog. Thanks, Rena! :)

You've read mine, now hop over and see what the other participants have created!

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking InATornado

WanderingWeb Designer

Climaxed

What TFSarah

Part-timeWorking Hockey Mom