The Real Deal

This is our tree, all lit up and pretty. It ended up being a little taller than we thought it was. But then, we always forget how low are 70's efficiency ceilings are. We put it in the dining room this year, which initially infuriated the girls, but ended up delighting them. We can eat by the light of the tree, and it can be seen and enjoyed from all rooms in the house. Mommy can't really move the couches without Daddy's help unless she wants to ruin the wood floors, and Daddy's back is not in couch-moving condition.

The scene was not always so lovely. It looked like a lumber mill in our dining room at 8:30 a.m. We brought the tree in and there were still ice clumps stuck to it. Things were tougher with Jeff's bad back this year, and we thought that's why we had trouble getting the tree into the stand. Turns out, we needed to lop several more branches off the bottom. Which Jeff did right there in the dining room. There were wet pine needles and branches everywhere.

This tree also had a remarkable number of bugs this year. Spiders especially. We always expect a few, but this is way more than a few. I think Biscuit finally figured out there were spiders hanging around the tree and I haven't seen too many more. Biscuit loves to snack on spiders. He stalks the perimeter of the basement daily, looking for spider treats.

Why do we do real trees?! 'Cuz that's how we roll. Real wood fires. Charcoal grills. Christmas trees we cut down. (I am aware that the Sierra Club might not sanction these choices). I bought a couple of flameless LED candles this year and have not been at all "tempted to blow them out!" as was advertised. They look like ... fake candles.

I'm the girl who eats real butter. Never orders a skim latte and always says yes to the whipped cream. Full of fat and the real deal? Yes, please.

I love the way burgers taste grilled over charcoal. I am enamored by the way a real fire crackles and dances and changes and gives off the best heat (and smells like a fire). Butter bakes better than margarine without a doubt, and I feel even more ripped off than usual if I pay 4 bucks for a skim latte.

Real is messier, more dangerous, and more fattening? (Maybe that last analogy doesn't travel the distance). I am judging no one; I understood completely this morning why many people do artificial trees. I understand that you save so many calories with a skinny mocha. But I think I have a physiological glitch that drives me to seek all things in their most real, authentic form. It makes me do crazy things like try to grow gardens when my back yard is infested with deer, or always bake and cook from scratch even though I could save so much precious time by even using a mix.

More romantic than practical? Crazy than sane? Foolish than wise? Probably. But when you practical, sane, wise friends want to walk on the other side of the street - my blog will be here for you:)