My tree won't shine

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I woke up at 4:30 a.m., thought it was 7:30 — jumped out of bed, dressed, then looked at the clock more closely this time. I fell back into bed with my shoes on and stayed for an hour or so. 

I began the morning sad. You know how it can be when the weather is gloomy. The dishwasher was still broken and the rain oppressed me. 

I decided to put up the Christmas tree, the silvery  white artificial one from Tallahassee. Until a couple of years ago I’d insisted on a live tree. Clark didn’t really care. From a Quaker family, he stayed back from holiday hoopla. I thought he was classy. He thought I was … I’m not sure … religious? sincere? German? warm as opposed to cool?   I liked to say Germans invented Christmas: Trees and candles and songs and cathedrals and snow. There was St. Nicholas and my mom’s cutout cookies and the way my Dad had made our tree rotate, with the blue and gold balls and tinsel and … I warmed up Clark's Quaker Christmas, and a live tree was essential.

But then suddenly I agreed to an artificial tree, as long as it was not green and did not pretend to be real. We bought a white one with the lights already installed. To Clark’s amazement, I loved this tree. And of course he did too, because all he had to do was plug it in. 

Anyway, this morning that tree refused to glow. The middle lights won’t turn on. I jiggled and shook the thing; I manipulated the wiring. Nothing worked. It is most dis-spiriting, this tree that is dark in the middle. I sat on the couch and growled at it. They say Christmas makes people sad, and I was sad beside my tree that refused to shine. Clark would have figured it out. 

I did enjoy a moment of self-pity. 

Then Zing and I got in the car and went shopping. It was fun to be out in the gloom. We went to the hardware store and the bakery and the pet shop. I got lost along the way a few times, which is how I am learning Sacramento. I went into the stores while Zing waited in the car. He doesn’t have any trouble with this. Then we’d go for a walk around the block. Along the way I was kind of looking for a replacement tree, but none appeared. 

At our last stop, the Co-op market on R Street, I was in the check-out line behind a man with bent back and shaggy gray hair. He had more than the 15 items suggested for that express line. When he signed for his bill, he bent an inch or so from the payment screen and carefully, slowly, punched the proper places. He did nothing more than buy groceries, but he was like a Christmas elf, reminding me to hit the buttons deliberately as I go through life and to chuckle to myself as I go.

I’m pretty sure tomorrow the tree problem will be resolved.

Love, 

k