Christmas in June

We had to drive a hundred miles, but we found a farm that would let us come and cut down our own tree – clearly, none of the local farms was selling Christmas trees in June. It’s a little taller than Artie and so thick there could be a nest and we wouldn’t know it (except we checked to be sure there weren’t any).

“I think it is our best tree ever, Beth.”

“Definitely,” I replied, even though he says the same thing every year. Maybe it’s true this year.

When we got home, Artie took a nap in front of the tv after he set up the tree for me. While he slept, I decorated. First the lights. Four strings of multicolored lights, around and around from top to bottom and back again. Then, I put on all the decorations we’ve collected over the years. One for every year of our married life. Thirty-one. Plus, all the Christmas craft projects our son Alex made over the years. The gifts from friends and colleagues. Decorating has always been my job, even when I was a child. When I finished, I was sweating as if I’d just run a marathon (no A/C), but happy with the results. I took a picture then set about making dinner.

Artie came into the kitchen holding his head.

“Dizzy?”

“It’ll pass. Need me to do anything?”

“Set the dining room table?”

“Why not the kitchen? I like the kitchen. Who’s coming?”

Alex, our son, and his girlfriend were coming along with Artie’s sister and her family and my best friend Rachel and her husband Rob. And, of course, his parents, but they live with us, so I never think to add them when running off a guest list.

“Use the ruby red tablecloth and the dishes my mom gave us for our wedding gift.”

“Let me pee first.”

I laughed and continued chopping onions.

“Happy birthday, Mom!” Alex said when he walked in later that afternoon.

“Happy birthday, Beth!” Hannah, his girlfriend, said, hugging me and handing me a bouquet.

“Thank you both so much! I’ll put them in some water,” I said drifting back to the kitchen.

“What’s with the Christmas tree, Mom? I know you love Christmas –“

“Yes, yes I do.”

“But come on! It’ll be dead way before Christmas.”

“Well, son, as it turns out, so will I.”