Saturday, December 15, 2007
Treezilla the Tannenbaum: A Christmas Story
Gather around the pixelated fire kids, Uncle m/a/z/e has a Christmas story to tell. The bulk of this post is cribbed from an e-mail to John, but, alas, the story needs to be shared.
Like good atheists, we picked up our Christmas tree last weekend - a week or two late for my tastes as I have something of a religious/OCD ritual of picking up the tree the day after Thanksgiving, but road trips and life intervened. The plan was to hit the grocery stores in Reno and grab a tree once we arrived home in Tahoe. That was the plan at least.
Turning onto the Tahoebahn (431 for the uninitiated) we spot a sign, "Oregon Trees." Sweet. A tree and a chance to represent 503? In the immortal words of Butthead, "We're there dude." A quick lane change and right hand turn, and we're browsing the homegrown Douglas Firs.
The farmer guys selling the trees brought the lot from somewhere around Eugene - two fully-loaded Fords and a horse trailer full (Which left us wondering how they got past the fruit/vegetable/plant check at the California border.)
At any rate, the selection is pretty good and we go about picking out a five-six foot tree. As we have to haul the tree up and over Mt. Rose, we ask about getting one that's already been twined up. By this point the farmer dudes have discovered that we are displaced Oregonians (Term stolen from John) and starts digging around for a, quote, "bushy one." Bushy is good, I can deal with bushy.
An appropriately bushy tree is found and the guys throw the tree on top of the car. For the next few minutes I entertain them in my pathetic attempt to bungee the tree to the car - luckily Molliwogg saves the day and tethers the tree on tight while I inquire if anyone is interested in a set of second-hand testicles.
The drive home was fine, Molliwogg's bungee job worked like a charm.
Our first indication something was wrong happened as we attempted to remove the tree from the roof. After sliding the tree off the roof, the whole thing slipped through our hands and crashed to the ground nearly taking a few toes with it. Hmmm. I'm used to trees that can more or less be moved with one hand, still, this tree has been sitting outside for a while, maybe it was just frozen.
It took about ten minutes to get the tree indoors - "carrying" in the traditional sense was impossible, instead we had to do this keeled-over shuffle while hugging the tree at either end. I swear I could feel various muscles in my back separating in the process.
We finally got the tree inside and laid it on its side in the entryway. Quick smoke break and we're ready to put the tree back into a vertical position. Erecting a tree isn't exactly a complicated process, but like the Energizer bunny, this tree just kept going, and going, and going...
If you haven't figured it out by now, our 5-6 foot tree is, in actuality, a 9-11 foot freaking Redwood. Apparently my fellow Oregonians have a different idea of what "bushy" means than I do. The plastic tree stand that served us faithfully for years lasted all of a second under the full weight of Treezilla. Crap.
A quick assessment of the situation and we run over to Ace Hardware and pick up one of the industrial-strength metal tree stands I spied on my last visit. We get back home, transfer the tree from stand to stand and, even with a new stand, Treezilla refuses to be restrained. We have beams running across out ceiling so we wedge the top of the tree against one and finally the leaning tree of Sodom is still.
After another smoke break - this time spent cursing our farmer friends - we return downstairs to cut the twine. No fewer than three people who have heard this story expected a repeat of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, but it wasn't meant to be. Our tree was frozen solid and maintained it's shape. Over the course of a few hours the tree melted enough to "bloom," decreasing the size of our living room in the process.
Now, I'm not exactly the tallest guy in the world, I'm closer to average than short, but I now know what a hobbit feels like. It's a little intimidating having a tree in the house that you know every time you walk by it's thinking, "If I fall on you, you're dead." Bully.
It took us three days to decorate Treezilla, its murderous intent made all the more absurd with twinkling lights and ornaments - something akin to Hannibal Lecter in a Easter Bunny suit. Still, I have no idea how I'm going to get this monster out of our house once the new year arrives.
So that's my Christmas story. The moral being, don't trust that Oregonians know what the word "bushy" means unless they're talking about hippy armpits.
May all your dreams be wonderful,
m/a/z/e the hobbit.
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