I am scared of our Christmas tree.
It's not because I am Jewish. (Marrying a Catholic fulfilled my childhood dream of celebrating Christmas in my household. Tree and all.)
It's because our Christmas tree is up in our attic. And our attic freaks me the motherfather out. The very thought of having to climb up to our attic makes me quiver.
Besides, the attic is husband territory. And the attic is only accessible through our garage.
The garage is, in general, his domain. His cold man-cave where he listens to crackly, static-y country music through an old boom box while sweeping, organizing and tinkering. He does this while wearing a thermal "onesie" reminiscent of a flight suit; he, for some reason, insists on living in it all winter long.
I go in to the garage get into my car. That's it. It's an exit and an entrance that holds my vehicle.
But, Hubster is not home to get the tree down. And I am hearing the homemaker duty call to dress up the house holiday style.
Man, a menorah is so easy. Compact, easily stored in the house. Buy the candles, light one each night and after eight nights a glorious lit-up candelabra!
But, our Christmas tree, in all its six-foot, glittering glory, is quite a sight to behold. Worth the perilous trek up into the ascending abyss of ‚Äď the attic.
I have two choices right now.
I can choose to be brave and self-sufficient. To stand on the hood of my Chevy, reach up and pull that ominous wire/string/cord thing that somehow releases the "staircase" into the attic and then cautiously climb what actually is a rickety ladder that makes Ringling Brothers trapeze artists look "safe."
Or I can wait.
Maybe find someone else to retrieve the tree from its lofty lair.
But, rock only knows what in heavy metal is up in that attic. I may not want non-family members to view what's going on up there.
And for those of you thinking I should just go buy a small, fresh tree I can maneuver on my own ...
I just may.
But, the ornaments and lights are up there too!
The whole point of buying our "reusable" tree two years ago at a post-Christmas sale at "Tarjay" was so we wouldn't have to waste any innocent pine varietals year after year. So we'd always have the "convenience" of just "having" our tree.
Forget "Flowers in the Attic." Christmas trees in the attic are my own personal, holiday horror.
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