There is one Christmas mystery I've never quite figured out. I mean, I was made straight on the old Santa Claus thing a couple of years ago when I caught my wife putting presents under the tree on Christmas Eve, but there's another piece of Christmas folklore that haunts me to this day. I've witnessed the results of this phenomenon personally on several occasions but haven't a clue what's behind it.
The Mystery of the Fallen Christmas Tree.
It always happens at night. No one in the house hears it. I'm certain that has something to do with the age-old philosophical maxim that asks, "if a tree falls in the middle of the parlor and there's no one around to hear it, does it make any noise?" Obviously, it does not.
My wife was surprised and horrified this morning to find a large ornamented pine lying horizontal across the beloved antique baby grand she bought and restored a couple years ago. Ornaments were strewn about the room like discarded toys, many in pieces. She launched an f-bomb volley at anything that moved. There arose such a clatter, I stumbled downstairs to see what was the matter only to find my wife in a heap at the base of the fallen tree.
We immediately roped off the scene and began picking up ornaments and remnants of ornaments. After an hour, we righted the tree and finished collecting the victims. Some went off to the graveyard, others to Santa's repair shop.
My wife glared in my direction; the accusatory "if you had set the tree up right in the first place, this wouldn't have happened", dagger thrust directly at my heart. The tree stand was not the problem.
It might have been a different story 500 years ago, about the time Germans simultaneously invented beer and tannenbaums. After a few brews, Wolfgang and the boys would axe-whip an evergreen and drag it back to the hut, just for fun. When it tipped over on baby Wolfgang's head, no harm done. Just another loin girding medieval life experience. The inventor of the Christmas tree stand didn't come along for another hundred years or so because, there was simply no need.
But since that miraculous invention, Christmas tree stand technology has become rocket science. Tip-free stands are the gold standard. It's not possible to tip a tree when its trunk is properly trussed into the tree stand. And mine always are.
As far as I was concerned, the latest tree tip was much more likely an egregious act of criminal vandalism. I put myself in charge of the investigation.
I interrogated the dog for half an hour. Predictably, the dog had nothing worthwhile to offer. Nor did suspect number two. My questions were met with a stone-faced silence.
The hue and cry for justice was deafening and I was not about to take the fall on this one, so to speak. I decided something had to be done; something that would take the heat off me and discourage any possibility of tree tipping in the future. It was necessary to make an example of someone or some thing. Guilty or not, suspect number two was my some thing.
The die was cast and the fate of a random innocent was sealed. Justice was swift and harsh.
I warn you, one image is rather gruesome.
Two weeks ago.
After vigilante justice was carried out.
I can only hope I don't have to revisit anything so ugly anytime soon.
Rest in Peace, Tannenbaum.
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