It's not really something I want to do, but I've begun anyway. If it were up to me, I'd probably have twinkling lights dotting my home all-year-round. But I'm not sure I like the connotations that come to mind when I think about Christmas lights on my house in July, so I've begun the process of de-holidazing my home.
After a trip to the local Stuff*Mart for a heap of plastic boxes (how much money do they make selling these things, doyathink?), it was time to start disassembling the decorations I'd assembled just a couple of weeks ago. Well, okay, maybe it was a couple of months ago. But it sure doesn't seem like it's been long since Monet was bugging me about going out to cut down our tree, which was finally put up and decorated on Christmas eve. I actually think we got the last tree they sold, as we were on the lot as the place was shutting down the day before Christmas eve.
And today, while Monet was disposing of said tree, now brittle and prickly with lack of life, he stuffed it into the burn barrel, lit it aflame, and then watched in panic as it tumbled out of the barrel and rolled, constantly combusting, toward the big red barn just west, and downhill, from the burn barrel. Flames, he says, were as high as the first floor of the treehouse, which is twenty feet off the ground, and he panicked as he envisioned the barn erupting into flames. He made haste toward the house, not quite knowing what to say, and stammered, "Can someone help me with this?" gesturing toward the flaming tree in the barnyard. Bo, not knowing what Monet could possibly need help with, looked at him with mild confusion/frustration/condescension, and then noticed the twenty-foot flaming mass of snapping, popping holiday spirit through the kitchen window. General panic ensued.
It's a very good thing that Christmas trees are quickly consumed by fire. It was all over in a matter of minutes and the barn was largely unharmed, thanks partly to Houdin, who grabbed flaming, smoldering pine branches with his bare hands. He says he has blisters to prove it. I wasn't here when the whole thing took place; I was out buying large plastic boxes to stash away our Christmas joy, so I have to take his word for it.
After all of the fun and fire had died down, Monet came up with this little piece of wisdom. "You know, when these things happen, no one thinks to stop and take a picture of it, because if they're taking a picture, they're not putting out the fire."
Yeah.
Kinda makes a girl appreciate her vintage-seventies fake, white tree with its retro-rotating base. Less chance of it catching the barn on fire.
Hope your post-holiday happenings are flame-free.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
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