THE PEDAL ON THE RIGHT

No Middle Road Here May the great toilet paper battle rage on! It is a great distraction. I’m an over towards the front person. I have ruthlessly changed rolls around in my friends’ homes. They have returned the favor in mine. It’s a good thing to find nonsense moments; it helps to balance out all of the serious ones. So goes the real vs. artificial Christmas tree syndrome. I grew up with real trees. We would all vie for the coveted watering the tree position. This job was never to be taken lightly, and was inevitably wrapped up tight with the ‘If you don’t water the tree it could catch on fire’ speech. The slightest screw up could cost you your entire present pile, not to mention your home. I think the tree fear factor may have forced a few unauthorized feedings by wanting to be helpful hands. I suspect some tree angel that looked an awful lot like my dad must have wiped up the extra water piles while he bit his tongue really hard. I stayed with the real tree façade long after I had my own children. I continued the tree-watering rule with equal importance. I find it funny how the idea that I was plugging in something sitting in water never dawned on me as odd. I did have my tree epiphany one late July. Shag carpets were big in the 70’s. They were actually sold with rakes to help maintain them. It didn’t help. There I was, doing something barefoot in my living room. I know that lone pine needle must have been lying in wait, getting stronger and stronger with every passing day. It was safe in the shag trenches. What had been born to a soft pine life had taken on a coat of armor. It had petrified over the last 7 months. It had embedded itself in my big toe, and held its ground. I know I yelped. I probably cried for awhile. Betrayal is a hard emotion to live with, regardless of the source. Traditions are equally hard to end. That was the day I ‘crossed over’. I have accumulated a nursery of artificial trees in my attic. Every couple of years the manufacturers make them bigger and better and easier to assemble. This wonder tree can be born again every thanksgiving and return quietly, without mess, to the attic. Artificial trees are alive and well in my comfort zone. I know the battle will continue on. You either love them or hate them. Just like the toilet paper is either over or under. Choose your side! No middle road here