All Story Telling

These pages will reflect the art of story telling and may involve my family stories as well as history and travel. They are a hodgepodge of topics with antidotal comments, but always involve the attributes of a good story.

How do you make a princess smile?

Posted on by kwundrow

We recently took a trip with our two daughters and their families on our quest to see the total eclipse, which we successfully accomplished. But more detail on that in a forth coming blog. We spent the first two days in St. Louis, where on our first evening there saw something that had my 7 year-old granddaughter’s face glued to the window of our hotel. Just outside the window stood a horse and carriage. The carriage was decked out in flowers and simply screamed Cinderella to my princess granddaughter, Adela.

As I watched her eyes light up at seeing that carriage, I knew she needed a prince charming. In that moment, I decided it should be me. I took her hand and asked if she’d like to go outside to see it close up. She grabbed my hand and bolted for the door. As we got out to the street and Adela became engrossed with the whole image before her, I quickly and quietly negotiated the price with the driver. What happened next was totally worth the cost of the ride. I took Adela’s hand and asked if she would like to step into her carriage? “Seriously, Opa?” “Seriously, Adela!”

We brought her mom and brother along on our ride, as well as my own princess bride, Deb, and for the next half hour, we rode through downtown St. Louis, but Adela was the star. Her smile lit up her face and her eyes twinkled. If I could have read her mind, I suspect it was savoring the fairy tale she now found herself part of. I’m not sure who received the greater gift, Adela by getting the ride, or me for getting to be her hero. Even though the ride was over before we knew it, the retelling of it lasted well into the evening.

So, how do you make a princess smile? You get her a carriage and be her prince charming.

Early Morning

Posted on by kwundrow

We were recently in Aruba with another couple for a week of sun, warmth, and relaxation. I had been given the task of securing our cabana on the beach each morning. Due to the popularity of our beach, you needed to be there by 6:30 in the morning if you were to get one of the much sought after cabanas. This was an easily accepted task for me as I tend to have a hard time sleeping past 6:00 anyway. For the first three days, I arrived right around 6:30 am and along with the other early cabana claimers, would find an open one, plant a coupe of stake holder chairs with towels, and then head back to the condo where by this time, everyone was up and moving.

For our last day on Aruba, we were undecided as to whether we would spend our last hours on the beach, or use them to grab a little last sight seeing. For reasons unknown to me, I awoke just before five am that morning, and lying awake next to my sleepy spouse, decided I would take our chairs and head down to the beach earlier than usual to claim a spot on the off hand chance that beach time would win out over sight seeing. As I stepped out onto the street that separated our condo from the beach, I couldn’t help but noticed the stillness of the predawn hour. Save for the waves lapping the beach, there were no other sounds. The city was still asleep. Where the morning before there had been a fewer runners and an occasional vehicle, this morning it was too early even for that. I was alone.

At face value, loneliness is not generally a welcome companion, but this loneliness had such a different feel. I wasn’t lonely, I was simply alone. The beach, softly backlit by the street lamps of the empty boulevard behind me, was deserted at this hour. Having staked out my claim, I began to walk the water’s edge as the ocean crept up the sand beach and lapped at my feet. Realizing that going back to the condo would be too early for my sleeping roommates, I decided to enjoy my alone time. I headed back up the beach and out to the silent street. I decided to walk the ocean front, soaking in the quiet of the city. As I walked, I eventually found myself at a small diner, the only open business along my entire walk. The thought of a hot cup of joe in this cozy diner suddenly was very appealing. As I entered, I found myself as the only other patron in the diner. At that point, had there been even a small crowd, I am sure I would have left, but as it was just the two of us and the waitress, I grabbed a seat. By the time my coffee came, I had struck up a conversation with my fellow diner, revealing where we were from and what had found us here so early in the morning.

With my coffee consumed and the sun just beginning to push back the darkness, I began my walk back to the condo. Unlike my walk to the diner in a city still asleep, she was now beginning to stir. Cars were starting to frequent the street, runners were emerging from beachfront condos, and the sounds of the city began to push back the silence. A building crane over here and a truck over there each adding there sounds to the growing noise of a waking city. By the time I reached the condo, the sun was climbing out of the ocean and sunlight began to replace streetlights. My alone time was ending.

Though there doesn’t need to be a point to story telling, there is a point to this one. I write it to preserve the beautiful memory of that morning and to share the image with whoever has experienced something similar. We can choose to be lonely, or we can welcome the opportunity for alone time. In a world filled all too often with bad news and unwanted noise, the quiet of being alone might truly be inviting. Do understand, I do not dismiss the dangers of loneliness, for there can be danger when mixed with a sense of despair or hopelessness, but rather that sometimes the best times are those quiet times alone. In those times we avoid the distractions of life and find the ability to refocus on what is important.

For me, that early morning walk with just the quiet of the predawn morning as my companion, will be my favorite memory of our week in Aruba. The sound of the waves, the empty streets, and that cozy diner shared with a stranger were exactly what I needed. What a perfect ending to an island getaway. It was the relaxing last moment before I would deal with the cacophony of the world awaiting me back home. It had reminded me that I had the ability to push out the noise and refocus my thoughts. Here’s hoping you can savor your next alone time, and that like I did that morning, you can find the beauty in the quiet that surrounds you.

Insomnia

Posted on by kwundrow

The clock says its 1:30 am. As I have done each night for the past three weeks, I nodded off just before midnight, only to have my slumber cut short, coming full awake sometime around 1:00 am. This has been my pattern every night since the surgery. Once I reawake, the battle to regain sleep begins. I switch my positions from the easy chair, to the couch, and then back to the chair. It would seem logical that I should be in my own bed, but early on in the process, that bed reminded me that I wasn’t welcome there. The sling I am imprisoned in, along with its four inch attached block, refuses to let me lie with any kind of comfort in or on a bed. Just another cruel twist to this game.

I have never been one to require much sleep. Six hours is almost too long while five hours has always been sufficient, provided it isn’t interrupted on those occasions when insomnia takes over the controls. Insomnia is a strange beast. On one hand, it is a cruel game of cat and mouse as I search for sleep, while on the other hand, it can open a world of quiet solitude when I give in to it. And tonight, I have given into it.

There is a kind of enveloping calm that exists if I stop fighting the insomnia and accept it as my companion for the night. At the onset all I seem to notice is the dark, but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I begin to see a world of shadows and in those shadows, familiar objects become unfamiliar. What looked like a person crouched in the corner, turns out to be the easy chair disguised by the shadows. As time begins to elapse, its the quiet that strikes me next. The daytime sounds, footsteps and doors opening and closing, the TV chatter and the clatter of kitchen noises, the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional ding of an appliance are all gone now in the darkness of night. But even as this quiet surrounds me, I hear the sounds that only belong to the night. A rafter, stretched in the heat of the day, now contracts in the cooler night air and lets out a creaking sound as it does so. The furnace issues a pop as it switches off and the heat duct cools. There is a silence of night, but the house isn’t silent.

I’ve given in fully now. I am not going to get sleep by demanding it, but rather by letting it catch up to me. And so I take to the night. Sometimes I walk through the unoccupied rooms of the house letting my mind see the path I must take to avoid objects hiding in the shadows that will stub a toe or hit a shin. I will stop by the window and gaze out at the houses and street all enveloped in darkness save for a streetlight or a porch light here or there. When the moon is full, I will stare in awe at the moon shadows. Tonight I am sitting here typing this piece, enjoying those sounds and shadows of the night. I know that sleep will eventually catch up to me and I will hopefully squeeze in a few hours before dawn brings back the day, but for now, insomnia and I will share the night.

I write tonight as my way of avoiding the anxiety that would creep in if I were to just lie awake worrying about the sleep I was losing. Instead of that anxiety, I have embraced the solitude and I have used the time to adjust and release all the busyness of the day. I have decluttered my brain and resolved a few issues. Sometimes, the best result we can achieve is the fight we give into.

4th Generation

Posted on by kwundrow

It was one of those rainy days you experience on vacation. Our family was holed up in our cottage waiting for the rain to let up. My grandchildren, Jackson age 9, and Adela age 6, were doing their best to keep themselves busy but there is only so much you can do inside. We had already used up the TV time and were working into the kids games, when my daughter decided we should try cards.

I come from a long line of card players, Sheepshead, Solitaire, Euchre, and Cribbage are a few of the games we played. I had taught my daughter to play cribbage as soon as it was possible for her to deal with the math and strategy the game required. I relied on the same tactic my dad had used when he taught me so many years ago, show them a hand played out, repeat the rules once, and then play for blood. The result was that my daughter was a show no mercy cribbage player. She would steal your points if you miscounted and harangue you if the rules of the day were gentleman’s cribbage with no point stealing allowed. We were starting our third game tied at one each, There was the usual heated conversations over who had the advantage and the third game, being for bragging rights, was already heating up when we noticed Jackson off to one side, checking out the game as we played. It was at this point that Bailey and I looked at each other with that “he’s ready to learn look”.

Generally, when indoctrinating a newbie to the game of cribbage, it will take several open dealt hands and games before they even catch on. After that, one must allow for another raft of games before they are not a straight up easy mark for the seasoned player. Jackson seemed to have some inane logic / intuition for the game. We wrote off his first win, after just three hands, to pure luck. But as the week wore on and he began to best both his mom and I, we began to concede the fact that we might have created the fourth generation cribbage playing champ in the Wundrow bloodline. Game after game, he either bested us or at the very least, held in there to make the game tight.

Just as I was with my daughter, and I am sure, my dad with me, Bailey had to be proud of the fact that Jackson picked up one of her favorite games so quickly and so avidly. There really is no greater pleasure to be had than when the protégé is able to beat the teacher. To watch something taught to me by my dad now being taught to my grandchild, reminds me of the legacy of family that is passed down through the generations. I am sure my dad was there watching over Jackson’s shoulder each and every hand. At least that would explain how easily he learned and how quickly he excelled. Way to go dad, way to go Jackson.

There is a metaphor in here somewhere. Every great teacher appreciates that moment when the student becomes the teacher. The passing down of a skill learned is a testament to the generation before. Never stop learning from the generation that came before so that we might pass that what was learned to the generation that follows.

I need to close now as I have Jackson, cribbage board in hand, asking for one more game before bedtime.

The Friends We Make

Posted on by kwundrow

I have been getting over a bit of writer’s block lately. Plenty of thoughts, but just not connected. In the midst of that, a title came to me and after a lot of searching for inspiration, I think I am ready to tackle this piece.

Deb and I just returned from some long awaited travel. We started the winter with a two week stay on Kauai and Maui in the Hawaiian Islands, returned home for a quick two week catchup, and then went down to Cancun for one more week. Hopefully you are not judging me for my irresponsible galivanting, but we had saved up for this and Covid-19 had left us longing to start traveling again. Regardless, we took both trips looking forward to the memories we would make. And we made memories.

These two trips, in some ways similar, had marked differences. Hawaii was activity driven. With my faithful travel master friends, Larry and Annette along for the journey, we never lacked purpose on any of the days. There were waterfalls to hike into, zip lines to tackle, whales to watch, and fish to snorkel among. Every day had a hike planned for at least part of it. Cancun, on the other hand, was meant for soaking up sun, walking the beach, and eating at a different restaurant every day (we were in an all inclusive so why wouldn’t we). Where our purpose in Hawaii was exploring and, as it turned out, exercise, Cancun was about down time.

We met random people throughout our stay in Hawaii, but they were usually “one and done” as we moved on and so did they. Cancun was different. As it was an all inclusive resort, it was like being held in this exotic, beautiful, prison. There was no need to venture outside of the walls and the food and the guards were incredible. The offshoot of this kind of vacation is that all the guests are traveling in the same circles. We were all there together and seeing a couple multiple times a day was the norm and offered the chance to make new friends, which we did. Though there were multiple couples, Chris and Sammy, Kristy and Chuck, not Paul (inside joke), half the state of Nebraska, and a very friendly group from Green Bay, Wisconsin, there were two couples who deserve a shout out.

Marcello and Julianna from Sao Paulo, Brazil were there to do a recommitment of their marriage vows on the occasion of their fifteenth wedding anniversary. We met them one of our first nights. They had come into one of the lounges and Julianna’s beautiful wedding dress caught our eye. Something told us they were looking for company. They had, like us, made the trip alone. As we started a conversation, we discovered that Marcello was able to speak some English but Julianna could only speak her native tongue, Portuguese. After spending some time apologizing to each other for not being able to adequately speak each other’s language, it was decided that we could fill in most of the gaps and we would not let it get in the way of what instantly felt like a friendship in the making. By weeks end, I was improving my very limited Spanish, and Marcello, his English. We had spent hours learning about each other and forming a friendship that just might, with the help of Facebook, last beyond our week in Cancun.

On night two of our stay, we sat across from a couple playing cards and talking with each other. As is the way with me, my incessant belief that people want to join in a conversation, I asked what game they were playing. That is all it took. By the end of the evening, we were making plans for breakfast the next morning. Erin and Alex, as it turned out, were from St Louis, a city we visit often and, by the end of the week, a city we now had a new reason to visit.

In our every day lives, we pass by so many Marcello and Julianna’s, so many Erin and Alex’s, but we never get to meet. When we travel, it seems so much easier to take the risk and start that conversation. In the case of Marcello and Julianna, we had to overcome the language barrier, but I will tell you that the challenge made the friendship all the sweeter. With Erin and Alex, the conversation was easier, but we still had to take the risk and put ourselves in play. In both cases, we formed a friendship that just might last long after the vacation ended. That is, of course, if both sides make the effort to keep the conversation going.

We are home now and the world is back to passing us by on the street, but what if we just once in a while mustered up the courage to talk to that person across the aisle or at the next table over. Who knows whether or not that is a friendship waiting to be formed. Don’t be afraid to take the chance. After all, can we ever really have too many friends?

72 years and a cloud of smoke

Posted on by kwundrow

Appleton Post Crescent

February 1951

Mr. and Mrs. Clarence Wundrow of Rt 4 Appleton, Wisconsin, announced the birth of their first born son at 2:25 AM on February 25th at St. Elizabeth Hospital in Appleton. The baby boy named Kenneth, apparently by the attending nurse, weighed in at 8lbs 8 oz and joined the family previously ruled over by two earlier sisters, Karen, aka Peaches, and Kathleen, aka Kay also both named by same said nurse. Kenneth will now attempt to take his place on the family farm and attempt to survive the bossy nature of his two siblings.

As time passed, Ken, Kenny to his parents and absolutely no one else, was joined by another brother, Karl. Ken and Karl were to become fast friends and thick as thieves. There was no challenge that once thrown at one brother by the other wasn’t met by the other, no matter how great the danger. In time, mom and dad Wundrow would add two more brothers, apparently just to keep the two sisters in check.

Kenny would eventually become Ken, enter high school, and graduate summa cum average. Woodstock was in full swing that summer as was the Vietnam War. Ken wanted UW Madison, mom and dad, wanted Fox Valley Tech. A compromise was struck and Ken was off to Wisconsin State College at Oshkosh, later UW Oshkosh. He entered as a science major, apparently aiming to be a scientist, and left as a math teacher with a degree in education. Seems the counselor thought he’d make a better teacher than a scientist. That, or the fact that scientists didn’t get draft deferment status.

Loyal Middle School (Loyal, Wisconsin) needed an interim math teacher and four years later, Oregon School District (Oregon, Wisconsin) did as well. Twenty-five years later and an illustrious career in education coming to a close, Kenneth Wundrow, EA. sold his blossoming tax business to the highest bidder, left teaching, and entered what would be a tax and financial planning career.

Now entering his sixth year of semi-retirement, and because a reasonable number of people still feel he has a little bit of wisdom left to share, volunteers as a business mentor. When able to say no, he travels the “world” with his wife of forty-two years, Deb.

And that’s it. seventy-two years summed up in two or three paragraphs. Some where along the line I have grown a little over four feet and gained roughly 180 pounds. I’ve added two beautiful, incredibly bright daughters to this world (Bailey and Kathryn), inherited two well appreciated son-in-laws (John and Eli) and at last count, two incredibly sharp grandchildren (Jackson and Adela) with a future draft pick to be named in June.

Life IS good and on this day each year, I want to thank the countless number of friends who wish me happy birthday, support me in my endeavors, and generally make living so worth well. Age is just a number and whether or not I like mine being such a big one, I will savor all the years that have passed and wisely spend all the ones that remain.

Dreams Can Come True

Posted on by kwundrow

Growing up on a small Wisconsin dairy farm in the 50’s, I constantly had chores to do, among them, cropping the fields, stacking the mows, filling the cribs and silos, and the main one, milking twenty three cows twice a day. Because my dad always believed that music would keep the cows content and that they in turn would produce more milk, meant that he would play the radio with the station tuned to WGN out of Chicago. This was an am radio station with a wide assortment of music, news, and talk shows. Thus, I and the cows were treated to a wide variety of programming. Two of my favorite programs were Let’s Go Fishing and Hawaii Calls. Let’s Go Fishing, as the name implies, was a half hour show about fish and catching them. The catchy little tune they would play, totally intended that pun, has never found its way out of my brain; “Let’s go fishing, for a day and a half, and a half a day, for a day and a half a mile.” Don’t ask me why they ended it with “mile” and I will leave the melody to your imagination. The second program was entitled “Hawaii Calls”, a show that took you through the music and stories of the Hawaiian Islands. As I listened, I would imagine one day getting to go there, but to my ten-year-old self, it seemed an impossible dream.

This memory has remained so vivid to me, and I have recalled it countless times over the years. I am happy to report that sometimes the impossible dreams of our childhood do in fact come true. As I write this blog, I am sitting in the Denver Airport waiting to board our flight to Hawaii. We will be spending the next two weeks Island hopping between Kauai and Maui. I say waiting, waiting because our flight is delayed for a technical issue, hopefully one that has nothing to do with the guidance system as I really want to get where we are meant to be. If not, I fear I will have the wrong wardrobe packed. Though this is not my first trip to Hawaii; Deb, my daughters, and I made the trip in 2008, it will be looked forward to no less than my first one. This time, my wife and I are traveling with two dear friends and looking forward to a shared experience as we explore the attractions and enticements of the Islands. There will no doubt be several Mai Tai and other fruit laden cocktails mixed in with hikes, waterfalls, and dinners on the beach.

Travel has always been an integral part of who I am. It started all those years ago as I poured over my National Geographics and listened to radio programs like Hawaii Calls. During my college years It grew into trips outside my home state. Eventually, it took me both north and south of the border and even across the ocean. It has introduced me to new friends and new places. It has allowed me to experience the cultures of people very unlike me and my travels have created memories everywhere I went.

It was just a radio program that planted the seed, but now, all these years later, Hawaii actually is calling and by the way, we just got the call to board our plane.

Aloha

Anticipation

Posted on by kwundrow

19 days, 15 hours, or as my grandson Jackson would say, 19 more sleeps. That’s what the widget on my phone is telling me as it counts down to our Hawaii trip. It has kept me optimistic through these cold dreary days of winter as we prepare a little more each day for our departure and greatly anticipated trip to the Islands. As much as I can’t wait to trade emails and meetings for sand and sun, the anticipation of the trip and the excitement it generates will not be overlooked. Just as joy is in the journey, anticipation is that joy.

Anticipation: the act of looking forward. especially : pleasurable expectation. They looked forward with anticipation to their arrival. Carley Simon felt strong enough about anticipation to write a song about it. My intent is to convince you that it’s the anticipation of things that brings joy to the waiting.

I am, as my readers know, a very visual person. From the moment we began our planning I was already there. I could see the aqua blue water, the lush tropical jungles, the palm trees swaying in the breeze. Hell, I could feel the sand between my toes. The fact that there was still better than six months to wait only enhanced the anticipation and that only heightened my awareness and spiked the excitement. The first part of my trip had begun, the anticipation of what it could be was setting in. I knew that anticipation would make the wait bearable.

Life is a constant process of anticipation. The anticipation of that surprise birthday party you just know they are planning. Meeting that special someone on a first date. A family wedding with all it’s planning and tension. The first day on a new job or just that first cup of coffee in the morning. My wife conditioned me to that last one and now I wake up dreaming of it. If you aren’t recognizing and savoring those moments of anticipation, well you just aren’t living. Just as the story is read between the lines, true joy of living is between those moments of anticipation. Anticipation is the hopefulness that allows us to tackle each brand new day, each brand new opportunity, life’s next adventure.

I will be brief today as I believe I have made my point. To truly enjoy the next adventure, one must embrace the anticipation that comes before. I will look at my cell phone tomorrow and the days remaining will be down to eighteen, eighteen more days of anticipation. I will trade waiting and impatience for that anticipation any day. Afterall, why hurry the process of getting there when all it will do is start the countdown of the days I will be there. Hawaii awaits me, what awaits you?

Savor the anticipation.

Headed Home: The end to a twenty-three year run

Posted on by kwundrow

My wife has lovingly referred to it as my tour. There was the Wisconsin tour, the Mississippi tour, and now the Iowa tour. Lest you get excited, there were never amps to be lugged about, press agents, or even screaming fans, no, it was my tax gig. For 23 years I have held sway in over 30 cities in three states as I taught tax law and planning to my faithful tax planning students. I hopefully educated them on at least several new tax codes, gave them some hot planning tips for managing their clients and employees, and maybe even provided a little entertainment mixed in with the lecture. Along the way, I visited multiple casinos, far too many hotels, and even learned a little Cajun. I visited at least half a dozen universities and witnessed the aftermath of two hurricanes, several tornadoes, and multiple blizzards. I met over 1500 tax planners, EA’s, CPA’s and attorneys and made friends with most of them. Today, as I sit in Ohare International Airport, I thought it appropriate to jot down a few passing thoughts as this phase of my life comes to a close.

I just finished an in-person presentation in Sioux City, a pretty little city tucked neatly in the corner of three states; Iowa, Nebraska, and South Dakota, which in its early years, served as the railhead for some historic cattle drives. It is not my true final gig as I have one more in-person to be held in Ankeny, Ia, and then one more on-line performance in a couple weeks. When that last one concludes, it will be in fact my very last one ever. The groupies say that I will be back, but I am no Brett Favre or Tom Brady. I have been saying it was my last year for the last six years, and this time it really is. I know that a year from now, I will miss the stage, I am after all a true ham when you give me the mic, but I won’t miss all the late-night drives, many done in rain or snow, the prep work, and the nervousness the nights before and the mornings of. I may appear cool, calm, and collected, but anyone who tells you they don’t sweat a little as they take the stage, is, shall we say, bullshitting.

I started this little career back in the year 2000, when the owner of the firm I was working for, turned down the request to be the speaker for these tax schools. He instead sent one of my mentors, Phil Harris, to hit me up for the job. I still remember a nervous Phil sitting down across from me and making the most tenuous job offer ever. It didn’t help much when he started out with “you aren’t my first choice.” He went on to tell me he would offer me half what he had intended and just a two-hour slot. I, being full of myself, needing the revenue, and just plain hopeful that I would impress him, accepted the job. Two hours turned into a half day, and by year two, I was the entire second day of a two-day conference. Along the way we built a two-way trust between Phil and I, and we became the two-man show known as Tax Insight. Phil gave them the theory and the law; I gave them the planning and the practicality. We wowed our crowd with famous hits like, The TCJA, Qualified Charitable Deductions for Everyone, and the ever-popular Passive Activities and You.

Six years ago, as I was ready to hand over the mic to younger talent, Phil became ill and within a year had passed away. Thus began my run of one more year’s. I was devastated by Phil’s passing and knew I had to stay on with the transition, year one, and then the attempted sale, year two, gifting to Iowa State University, year three, Covid-19 forcing us to move on-line, year four and five, but as year six approached I had to redraw the line in the sand, With that decision, year six would be, with acquiescence to my wife, the farewell tour. We even entertained making up shirts with the names of all those cities our tour had passed through, but saner minds prevailed, and the shirt idea was nixed.

It has been, despite my whining here and there, a spectacularly great decision. I learned much along the way; taxes, business planning, the histories of people, places, and things, and even some odd tidbits, like always make sure you know where the wipers and light switches are on your rental car especially when driving through Mississippi in the dark. As I leave, I want to thank my co-workers who unbegrudgingly filled in for me back at the office while I galivanted around the countryside, my boss who not only put Phil onto me, but gave me the time off to do it, and especially to my wife, Deb, who supported me, cheered me on, and eventually even became my paid handler, coincidentally the best I ever had.

But all things do come to an end, and this will be my swan song. I am extremely proud of the work I have done and will be forever grateful for the experience. If there is a lesson here for my readers, never be afraid to take the chance. You just might surprise yourself as to what you can accomplish and where the decision might lead.

Thankyou Phil

Who Knew Christmas Trees Fight Back?

Posted on by kwundrow

The day after Thanksgiving, our tradition is to cut our Christmas tree. Yesterday was no exception other than the fact that my younger daughter and her husband would be unable to share in the festivities due to Covid-19, the virus hell bent of ruining our family traditions. John and I would be tasked with cutting their tree.

The day started out beautiful, sunshine and temps in the upper 40’s. Perfect weather to cut a fresh tree, which coincidentally was what half the population of the state had decided to do and at the same tree farm we had chosen. As was the tradition, we would meet our daughters and their families out at the tree farm for a day of bonding over picking out and cutting our three trees. The men folk, John and I, damn you Eli, were well aware of the painstaking process that lay ahead of us as we marched back and forth, checking out at least a hundred trees before the women folk, Bailey and my wife, would settle on the very best tree ever! All that remained was to cut them down, at ground level, in the muddy ground. The first tree fought a little bit before John was able to saw through. Tree number two, Kathryn and Eli’s actually went quite well, but then came the tree Deb had chosen for our house. This should have been my warning of things to come. With two people pulling on the tree as I attempted to get my saw to cut without binding up, we eventually got it to succumb to my efforts, but not before we cracked a nice chunk out of the trunk. No problem I told Deb, the skirt will cover our damage.

After standing in line with the mobs that like us, felt yesterday was THEE day to cut a tree, we got our tree back to the loading barn, violently shook free of loose needles, bound up tighter than an Egyptian mummy, purchased and paid for with a small loan we took out at the bank ….. have you bought a Christmas tree recently? And it didn’t even come with lights and decorations! We were now ready to pull up the car to load up our tree for the ride home. Fifteen minutes later after waiting in the line of cars loading their trees, John and I managed to jam two of the trees into the back of my Jeep with the third tree tied to the back. As my grandson and I climbed into the car for the drive home, it became apparent that a seven foot tree in a six foot bed, would be sharing the space between us. Just one more minor inconvenience. This too will pass.

An hour later, after dropping the first tree at Bailey and John’s house, and the second tree at Kathryn and Eli’s place, Deb and I arrived home with our “best tree ever”. Into the house and into the stand, I wish! After three unsuccessful tries at centering the tree in the stand, we finally got the beast secured. Leveling and centering came next and thanks to my wife’s keen eyeballing abilities, we eventually reached perfection, some twenty minutes and several gymnastic maneuvers later. Next step, throw on the lights. starting at the top, and after too many times to count of circling the tree, (this step might be what inspired Brenda Lee to write “Rock Around the Christmas Tree”) we ran out of lights two feet from the bottom of the tree. This is where the math you’ll never use should have been used…… pi x diameter = circumference, average circumference x number of times around the tree = the number feet of lights you’ll need, which apparently was short by 100 more bulbs. But wait, we had an unused box of exactly 100 ‘white’ light bulbs. Saved….NOT! This is where one learns that there are many shades of white lights, none of which matched our already strung white lights.

One hour later, Deb has returned from Target with the light supplies needed to finish our assault on the Christmas tree. Would these be the right white? Close enough, the tree is strung and lit, Deb now begins the final Battle of the Tree, while I retire to the coach, content to watch my first Christmas movie. Things are going well, Deb has half the ornaments on the tree when, out of the corner of my eye, I simultaneously hear Deb scream and the tree cant drunkenly towards the front door. As the tree tilts further toward Deb, I snag the backside of the tree and haul it back up. Close call, but after some tinkering with the anchors and Deb sternly scolding the tree, we have it standing upright. All that leveling and centering is far less important now as Deb wants this battle over. Establishing that the tree now seems stable, we will settle for the leaning tower of Christmas and move on.

We settle in for a quiet night of sleep planning on dreaming of the beauty of the tree that awaits us tomorrow morning. 7:00 am comes quickly and we rise, vision of tree grandeur dancing in our heads. As we enter the living room, ready to turn on the Christmas lights, there lays our tree, yes, I said lays not stands our tree. Our tree lays draped like a drunken sailor across the chair it took out on its way to the floor. Christmas balls are strewn in a dizzying array across our living room floor.

I turn to my wife, anticipating either tears or a string of curses, but to my relief, she is laughing. As we survey the scene of the wreck, we decide we will not be defeated by this tree. We resurrect the tree, replace the stand, straighten the lights and start replacing the bulbs. In order to thwart any further escape attempts, we hog tie it securely to the stair rail and dare it to try to get loose from that.

In good news from the front, the tree is still standing. We have faced the enemy and he is ours. Maybe let’s get a smaller tree next year.