The Christmas Tree Clean Up

It's that time of year again and it always brings back memories. I was wandering around Walmart with Mya today and looking at Christmas decorations when I saw it: the Christmas tree clean up bag.

It happened every year. . .

We were kids wandering around the mall with our dad when he'd pick up one of those large garbage bags known for cleaning up the Christmas tree. The bag is supposed to be laid under the tree skirt so that when you take the tree down, you simply lift the bag up and over the tree and out it goes. No mess - No fuss.

Our dad thought it was a phenomenal invention: a garbage bag big enough to hold a tree. No more pine needles all over the living room. No more pine needles plugging up the vacuum. No more fights as we took down the Christmas tree.

He bought it.

We always bought a real tree (thanks to my sister Celina who refused to have a fake tree). We'd all go together and choose the perfect tree and we had full intentions of keeping it watered and healthy. One week went by and our tree looked great. It survived week two. But by week three we couldn't remember when the last time was that someone watered it. And week four found us visiting family for the holidays and not at home. When we arrived home after the holidays we were stuck with a half dead tree in our living room. It had dry, sharp needles that hurt when we got too close.

Taking down the Christmas tree was avoided like the plague. Jacquie claimed she had to work. Celina was conveniently in the bathroom. I pretended to have homework due after the holidays. But after January arrived my dad would yell that it was time. He was tired of looking at it. We were told to have it down before he got home from work.

We would take down the ornaments, the tinsel and the lights. But it took all day. Those darn needles kept poking us and it wasn't a fun job. We'd try to be as delicate as possible to avoid spilling pine needles all over the carpet. But as 5pm drew near, we'd hear the garage door and knew our dad was coming - "Quick! Wrap up the tree!" one of us would yell.  It was a team effort as we attempted to stuff the dried-up tree into the one-size-fits-all bag that was always too small.

But it was too late. Our dad was walking up the stairs.

The bag began to split. Dad would yell. He'd walk over and try to help. One of us would yelp as a needle poked through the bag and stuck us. Dad would tell us to suck it up and hold the tree straight. The bag would split more. It was inevitable. It couldn't be avoided. Needles were falling everywhere. And the phenomenal invention that was the Christmas tree bag just fell into teeny, tiny pieces.

In the heat of the moment my dad would swear, grab the tree by the top and drag it out of the house, leaving a trail of needles across the living room and through the dining room. He'd open the back door, walk out onto the deck and throw the tree out the window. He'd walk back in, dust off his hands and tell us to vacuum up the mess. Who's bright idea it was to buy a Christmas tree bag in the first place? He'd never buy another one.

Our tree would remain in our backyard until spring when he'd finally go back there to haul it away to the dump.

The following November found us walking through the mall when my dad would see it: The Christmas tree clean up bag. "Hey, maybe we should buy one of these bags this year? Maybe it'll help with keeping the pine needles off the floor?" my dad would say.

My sisters and I would giggle as he bought it. Well aware of what was to come. . .

Today I did not buy a Christmas tree clean up bag. We have a fake tree that we don't have to remember to water and doesn't spill pine needles all over the carpet. But the memory made me nostalgic anyway. This will be my tenth Christmas without my dad and I miss him everyday. What I wouldn't give to clean up those pine needles one more time.

Melanie