Okay, so it's Papa's fault, ultimately. Growing up, my Mom always had the most beautiful Christmas trees. And they were big. To the ceiling. Full, and to the ceiling.
So, every year, I insist, overriding my dear wife's practicality, that we get a big tree. In fact, the trees have to be slightly cut down every year in order to fit the 3.5m ceiling.
The guys at the tree yard, where we have gone three years in a row, just refuse to believe that our trees are for a family home, and not for some regional municipality, or for an outdoor sporting event.
We laugh, and they laugh, too.
And we come back the next year, and everyone gets to laugh again.
Hey, they can all laugh, but I still get my tree.
This year, though, it became hysterical. The tree was loaded by three huge guys into the Land Rover. (Needless to say, it hung way out the back with one of those red flags tied to the end of it, waving in the wind.)
But when we got home, Natalya and I just could not get it out of the car. There is no way the two of us could pick up this tree, were it even to be lying most convienently on the bare ground at our feet. But by now, the tree had unceremoniously entered the world of 300-level University Physics fulcrum-and-weight examination questions. It had gotten sandwiched between the folded rear seats, and the long drive home had only made this sad fact all the more irrefutable.
The tree. We tried to budge it, but it was like trying to pick up the Land Rover itself.
I was going for the keys to the tractor, to pull it out of the car with a rope. We were laughing. Then Natalya said:
"Hey, let's tie it to a tree, and I'll just drive forward."
Then we really laughed.
Looking at the Christmas tree, we were in ready agreement that tying it to some young sapling was not going to cut it, so we pulled the car up to a big old pine tree, and connected the two trees with a rope.
Natalya got in the car, pulled forward, and it worked!
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The next day, we got a couple guys from the village to come and help us get the tree into the house, into the Salon, and stand it up.
Natalya then:
"Aren't you sure you want a small tree next year finally?"
Me: "No-sir-ee, it's the big tree."
So, see! We really do learn a lot of stuff from our parents after all.
