Christmas trees

The holidays have nipped at my heels like a beast that's excited with innocent energy but doesn't know the most appropriate ways to show his affection. They've been wonderful, really - kept me running around with visits to special people, and I honestly haven't sat down at a computer for longer than five minutes in the last week. All of this is supposed to be a pathetic apology for not posting. So there it is.

I received, for the most part, very nice gifts this year. My friends and I have all agreed on no gifts (and it's a relief - we have too much stuff already, and it's nice to be able to spend a little less). A woman that helped raise the children of our family (and who is by virtue of this fact a family member herself), Louise, gives us a tree every year in a city park - a really special gift that goes beyond stuff. She brought us a picture recently of the first one, the one that we planted ourselves (since then, a simple phone call takes care of the arrangements and the actual planting), us bundled up in our coats, me with mittened hands folded in front of me, squinting at the camera and flashing a grin that showed off the large gap between my teeth that braces have minimized since. No one could remember the exact year, but everyone agreed I must have been about five or six. She's given us a tree, and we've met there every year on Christmas day, ever since.

As we drove to the park this year in search of the new one, I felt a pang of guilt for not having any idea where any of those trees actually were. Sadly (and slightly ironically), Louise informed us that the first one (the one we actually worked so hard to drag to the middle of the park and plant with our own hands) died a few years ago (there goes any suggestion that our thumbs might be even the slightest shade of green). Still, there must be over 20 others. I can blame my incredibly dull sense of direction, and the fact that I don't live in my hometown anymore. Truthfully, I'm not sure any of the other children (inside and outside my family -- she took care of lots of children during the same period) she devotes the tree to have any idea about their locations, either. But maybe someday, during a warped reunion where we all marvel a little longer at grown-up versions of ourselves, we can walk through the park and map them all, so that we'll have a key back to each one. And we can put a little red 'x' on the map, marking the hole where the first one used to be.