My Father's Ugly Aluminum Tree

            Christmas for me personally, is the smell of pine, a real tree, with shimmering lights, garland, special ornaments made by my children and grandchildren, and new ornaments.

            I vowed a long time ago that I would always have a real tree, preferably one that I would cut down with my family; a tradition that my family and I still follow to this day. A Saturday or Sunday is chosen in December and those family members, who are available, drive to one of the tree farms in the country.  We pile into the tractor-pulled-wagon and sit on the bales of hay. The tractor pulls along and drops us off where the Christmas trees are growing. We stumble off of the wagon, with the little ones, whooping and running toward one tree after another excitedly proclaiming, “Ooh, cut this one, no cut that one, how about the other one!”

            It never fails, it is usually the first tree that we like but we have to go through the ritual of attempting to cut a tree, when another shout arises, “Wait, this is the tree we really want.” We usually end up going back to our first selection.

My sons haul the trees back to the pick-up point, toss them up on the wagon, and we ride back to pay for them. With the trees secured on our vehicles, we head for a family lunch at a restaurant that is close by.

            But, when I was a kid, we had moved from our hometown of Utica, New York, to Cleveland, Ohio. Christmas was the time we traveled back to visit the relatives. We might have our own tree but we opened our Christmas presents before we actually celebrated Christmas because my father was the one who couldn’t wait until Christmas to rip off the decorative ribbons and wrapping paper to see what was hidden from his prying eyes.

            Sometime in the 50s an awful thing happened in our house, awful for us but not for my Dad. The aluminum tree hit the stores, stole my father’s heart, and became a mainstay in my parent’s living room. I can still remember how excited my Dad became when it was time to set up the tree. He painstakingly laid the pieces of the tree on the floor, set the main pole in the stand. Each individual branch would go into the holes. The tip of the branches sort of puffed out like a powder puff with curled fingers. My Dad sorted the colored balls, and placed these strategically throughout the tree, alternating the colors of reds, blues, and greens. But that wasn’t the end. He set up a rotating colored wheel with a spotlight shining in front of it. When my father finished with all of his tree decorating, he would turn off all the lights in the living room, sit in his favorite chair with his legs stretched out on the ottoman and watch the colored wheel turn the aluminum tree red, blue and green. He literally worshipped that tree. He gazed at it lovingly, just as I imagined he once looked at my mother. I hated that tree. And that was when I swore to myself that I would never own an aluminum tree or any artificial tree!

            After my father died in 1991, my stepmother still put the tree up for a few years. She loved it as well. Eventually she stopped putting the tree up and stored it away. When we cleaned out the attic of my parent’s house, I inherited the tree, rotating wheel and spotlight as well. My oldest son always said that he wanted it. I brought the tree back from Cleveland to Pittsburgh and put it in my garage. My son was married at the time that I told him the tree was in a box in my garage. He hemmed and hawed, and finally said that his wife would kill him if he ever brought it home. I finally threw it away.

               The past year, while visiting my cousin, Netta, in Utica, and sharing family stories, I told her about my Dad’s aluminum Christmas tree. I laughed when I told my cousin about my contempt for that tree. Her face was unreadable as she walked out of the room only to return with a photo of her Christmas tree. There it was in color…déjà vu… an identical, ugly aluminum tree. A chill went up my spine as she whispered, “I love this tree.”

My Father's Ugly Aluminum Christmas Tree

            Christmas for me personally, is the smell of pine, a real tree, with shimmering lights, garland, special ornaments made by my children and grandchildren, and new ornaments.

            I vowed a long time ago that I would always have a real tree, preferably one that I would cut down with my family; a tradition that my family and I still follow to this day. A Saturday or Sunday is chosen in December and those family members, who are available, drive to one of the tree farms in the country.  We pile into the tractor-pulled-wagon and sit on the bales of hay. The tractor pulls along and drops us off where the Christmas trees are growing. We stumble off of the wagon, with the little ones, whooping and running toward one tree after another excitedly proclaiming, “Ooh, cut this one, no cut that one, how about the other one!”

            It never fails, it is usually the first tree that we like but we have to go through the ritual of attempting to cut a tree, when another shout arises, “Wait, this is the tree we really want.” We usually end up going back to our first selection.

My sons haul the trees back to the pick-up point, toss them up on the wagon, and we ride back to pay for them. With the trees secured on our vehicles, we head for a family lunch at a restaurant that is close by.

            But, when I was a kid, we had moved from our hometown of Utica, New York, to Cleveland, Ohio. Christmas was the time we traveled back to visit the relatives. We might have our own tree but we opened our Christmas presents before we actually celebrated Christmas because my father was the one who couldn’t wait until Christmas to rip off the decorative ribbons and wrapping paper to see what was hidden from his prying eyes.

            Sometime in the 50s an awful thing happened in our house, awful for us but not for my Dad. The aluminum tree hit the stores, stole my father’s heart, and became a mainstay in my parent’s living room. I can still remember how excited my Dad became when it was time to set up the tree. He painstakingly laid the pieces of the tree on the floor, set the main pole in the stand. Each individual branch would go into the holes. The tip of the branches sort of puffed out like a powder puff with curled fingers. My Dad sorted the colored balls, and placed these strategically throughout the tree, alternating the colors of reds, blues, and greens. But that wasn’t the end. He set up a rotating colored wheel with a spotlight shining in front of it. When my father finished with all of his tree decorating, he would turn off all the lights in the living room, sit in his favorite chair with his legs stretched out on the ottoman and watch the colored wheel turn the aluminum tree red, blue and green. He literally worshipped that tree. He gazed at it lovingly, just as I imagined he once looked at my mother. I hated that tree. And that was when I swore to myself that I would never own an aluminum tree or any artificial tree!

            After my father died in 1991, my stepmother still put the tree up for a few years. She loved it as well. Eventually she stopped putting the tree up and stored it away. When we cleaned out the attic of my parent’s house, I inherited the tree, rotating wheel and spotlight as well. My oldest son always said that he wanted it. I brought the tree back from Cleveland to Pittsburgh and put it in my garage. My son was married at the time that I told him the tree was in a box in my garage. He hemmed and hawed, and finally said that his wife would kill him if he ever brought it home. I finally threw it away.

               The past year, while visiting my cousin, Netta, in Utica, and sharing family stories, I told her about my Dad’s aluminum Christmas tree. I laughed when I told my cousin about my contempt for that tree. Her face was unreadable as she walked out of the room only to return with a photo of her Christmas tree. There it was in color…déjà vu… an identical, ugly aluminum tree. A chill went up my spine as she whispered, “I love this tree.”

Exchanging Work Aprons

Yesterday, I put on a different apron and worked at my daughter’s kitchen, making soufflés’. I will be doing this every other week…making soufflés that she will serve at her downtown Deli. I haven’t made soufflés for months…but the job is easy and I like working in the kitchen alone and on my own. 

The process is an easy one. After I wash my hands, put on my apron, I go through my routine of making the soufflés. I pull out the pastry from the freezer and take out a number of pastry sheets to thaw. Then I get two long sheet pans and line them with parchment paper. I pull out the soufflé cups and spray them and lay them out on the sheets. My next step is to mix the egg mixture and when I finish with that, I place the mixture back into the refrigerator.

The most time consuming is cutting circles out of the pastry, pressing it into the soufflé cups and then cutting strips to line the sides, making sure to praise all the seams tightly together.  When I am finished with this chore, I add different types of cheeses to the bottom of the soufflé’s cups, and then pour the egg mixture into the cups. I put the trays into the oven and bake them. When they are finished and cool down, I wrap three of the soufflés in plastic and freeze them for the Deli.

When the Deli serves the soufflé, they add toppings and cheese to the top of the soufflés and all the customer has to do is enjoy every bite of it!

So, the next time you are in downtown Pittsburgh…eat at Erin’s Deli and order a soufflé…you won’t be disappointed! And tell them

Early Morning at the Greenhouse

It’s Saturday morning at the greenhouse and it’s fairly quiet here. There are four workers around and the owner is in the upstairs office, working. So far, I am waiting for the Mums to dry up a bit before I water them. I checked the Poinsettias in Greenhouse 2, 3, and 4. Most of the pots are still heavy with water and can be watered later. But the 2 benches by the wall, the plants are dry and I water them, along with the ferns. I have been going through the greenhouse, taking off the dead leaves and cleaning up the plants.

So far, there have only been two customers. I don’t remember the greenhouse being this dead. Of course, it is fall and most of the gardeners are cleaning up their own yards and gardens.

I walked into Greenhouse 6…it is empty of plants; the benches are empty and all that is left is a big black potting bin where we used to empty the bags of soil into and then fill up the flats and pots. I remember how every space on those benches and even underneath was occupied by 804 trays and trays with 4-1/2” pots. Hanging baskets filled the house and sometimes, they hung from the benches themselves. Now, the house is empty.

 

In the front yard, there are lots of Perennials for Sale. It’s the right time to buy those plants and dig them into one’s yard and garden. There are also lots of pumpkins and cornstalks waiting to be purchased.

All in all, despite the maintenance and watering, I feel the cold days of winter slowing coming.

Jeans with a ZIPPER!

Since February, I have been trying to lose weight. In the beginning my diet started around Lent (for non-Catholics, this is a time of penitence and giving up things in preparation for Easter). I gave up soda (which I love), chips, dips and snacks (which I doubly love), and sweets (which I could live without). I lost about 15 pounds but unfortunately, it didn’t show up in my blood work.

Then I doubled down and went hard core…reading labels, trying to find low sodium items lowering sugar intake along with starches, etc. In reality, I was trying to eat cleaner and healthier. I dropped 25 more pounds. I have lost a total of 40 pounds and will find out in a few weeks if this has affected my blood work for the better.

With all the weight loss, I felt great, my knees felt so much better without lugging all that weight. But in all of this, I had to buy new clothes. My old ones were totally baggy, hanging off of me and making me look sick. I kept pulling up my pants because they kept falling down. I ended up going through my closet and taking four big bags to a women’s store.

Then, the other day, I went to a store to buy a pair of jeans. After looking for my old reliable style of Mommy Jeans (ones with the elastic waist)…I couldn’t find any. So I tried on a different pair of jeans…they were in a normal size. They were actually smaller, and they fit but not only that they had …a ZIPPER! I haven’t worn jeans or any type of pants with a zipper since I was in my early 30s. I felt good about this.

But WOW…jeans with a zipper…amazing and awesome and who would have thought that I would now have a pair of jeans in my closet with one of those sweet little things - a zipper!!!!!