LET'S PRETEND - Opening segment (Scroll down for earlier chapters)     


     An imagination is a marvelous thing.  It will take you anywhere you’d like to go, and your trip is free.   I’ve always found it a wonderful way to travel.  It made school tolerable.  The only downfall was the fire and smoke, and debris field on the re-entry into reality.  This is why I was always reluctant to return.  As soon as the smoke cleared, there would be Miss Quailbreath glaring at me…”Mr. Maberry, where have you been?” 
       

     I figured my imagination would be the only way I would see a diploma.  The fact that I escaped with one in hand was considered a miracle by some of my classmates.   

         

   With all of our technology, I’ve often wondered if today’s kids have the kind of imagination that made our lives magical years ago.  My grandchildren have assured me there is no shortage of imagination.  For example, their grandmother and I will take them to a store.  Almost immediately, they will imagine us with vast sums of money, to be used at their disposal, for buying anything they desire.  I’m impressed!  I look in my billfold and find the vast sum of five dollars.  I tell them I can’t imagine any more than that.   They’re happy.

     Last night I was watching my grandson pretend he was a Transformer.  I marveled at his imagination.  It didn’t require money.  Soon his father came into the room and suggested he transform into his pajamas for bed.  Brett immediately did his imitation of a five year old with an ear-piercing wail.  If you’ve never heard the ear-piercing wail of a five year old, let me say this; it’s a painful way to get your ears pierced.  His performance was so good it appeared to be stark reality.  I wanted to clap, but I couldn’t take my hands off my ears. 

     When we were kids, my cousin, Lester, and I loved to pretend.  Sometimes we would even pretend to be ourselves, although our parents said they preferred us being someone else.  That way, if we got into trouble, they wouldn’t get the blame for raising incorrigible misfits. 

     Even after child labor laws, much of our time was spent doing reading, writing, and math at school.  There was no technology like the internet, video games, or texting.  But we knew there was a world of adventure and intrigue waiting for us.  We just had to tap into our imagination.  It was our only hope of escaping from the harsh, unrelenting world of schoolwork. 

     With our imaginations, we entered into an exciting world of make-believe; a world that allowed us to date the best-looking girl in school.  That, alone, made an imagination worth every cent.  

To be continued...check back soon

   

THE PERFECT TREE - Final Segment (Scroll down for earlier segments)     


     My aversion to artificial trees probably comes from my childhood.  Mom had an artificial tree.  It was a shiny silver tree.  It looked as though someone had taken a chrome hubcap, put it through a shredder, and used the remains for a tree.  Every year I would ask, “Mom, where did you get that tree?” 

     “In the silver forest,” she would answer.

     It was probably where I had first spotted the elusive silver elk. 

     As an added attraction, she had a spotlight shining through a multi-colored disc that rotated next to the tree.  As the disc rotated, the tree would change colors, from red to green to blue, and so on.  If you stared at the tree long enough, you’d be hypnotized.  I think that was Mom’s plan.  “Just stare at the tree.  You’re getting sleepy.  Keep staring…”  Fortunately, I always woke up in time for Christmas. 

     I have tried to keep “tradition” alive, but under intense pressure from the rest of the family sitting on me and twisting my arm, which led to a dislocated shoulder and three fractured ribs, I finally broke down and bought an artificial tree.  My wife found the perfect tree on TV.  After selling both cars, we had enough money for a down payment on the tree.  Within a few days, a large box was delivered to our front door. After dragging it into the house, I sat down to catch my breath.  Then  I looked at the printing on the box.  “Trees used to come from the back forty,” I told my wife.  “Now they come from Hong Kong.  That’s what it says on the box.” 

     “That’s further than the back forty,” she answered.

     “That’s probably why they cost as much as a new purse,” I said.  “It’s a lot further walk to Hong Kong.”

     I pulled the contents out of the box.  After being satisfied that a tree was included, I looked at the directions. They were written in Chinese, probably retaliating for the leftovers I had sent them as a kid, when Mom told me they were starving in China. 

     To my good fortune, I spotted another set of directions in English.   As I read them, I wondered what Gramps would have thought.  “You need directions to put up a tree?”  Then he’d grab his trusty axe and head for the back forty.  “Why pay to build a tree, when you can go out to the back forty and cut one down that’s already been put together, and it’s FREE!” 

     This month we have been busily preparing for Christmas, putting up the tree, and getting all the Christmas décor in order.  I don’t know why I say putting up the tree because it was already up, standing in cold storage, in our basement.  How it got down there I’ll never know, but I know how it’s going back after Christmas.  There’s going to be a puff of smoke, and the tree will drop through a hole in the floor.  I say that because it comes in three sections that refuse to be separated.  If I could take it apart it would be simple, but “simple” and “easy” have never been part of my holiday plans.

     Somehow we coaxed the tree upstairs without re-modeling.  But it did balk several times at all the steps.  When you stand in one place for so long, climbing stairs can be very tiring.  I think we’ll celebrate next Christmas in cold storage.  I’m sure the tree would like that.

     A long, lost cousin paid us a visit shortly after Christmas, in March.  I told him we’d been too busy to take down the tree.

     “I’ll help if you want to take it down now,” he said.

     I yawned and slowly answered, “I guess now is as good as any.”  I didn’t want him to think I was getting ready to flag down a motorist for help.  The two of us managed to separate the tree into its three equal sections, which made it much easier to move downstairs.

     That meant we would not be celebrating next Christmas in cold storage.  I can place the three sections side by side in the living room.  We’ll just decorate three small trees.

     Then, on the other hand, I think I’m ready to go back to a simpler time, and take my grandson on that pilgrimage to the back forty in search of the “Great Tree.”  That would be perfect.

New chapter coming...check back soon.

   

THE PERFECT TREE - Segment 4 (Scroll down for earlier segments)

     Times are changing for trees and, frankly, I’m concerned.  The ATM, Artificial Tree Movement, is part of a very disturbing trend, subtly spreading throughout our great country.

     Last year Connie and I stopped to visit some dear friends during the holidays.  Much to our dismay, they had shamed their name by bringing an artificial tree into their home. 

    Although our relationship was immediately strained, I still managed to break bread with them.  I don’t think you should let anything get between you and food.

   My friend said he couldn’t pass up a deal he found at an artificial tree farm.  “We toured their assembly line and saw how they made the trees,” he said.  “Afterward, they let us make our own tree.” 

     “Next time I’d get limbs that match,” I said.

     Not long thereafter, we discovered our daughter and son-in-law had become involved in this radical movement.  Obviously, we were deeply hurt.  When they put up their artificial tree, I thought, where is the thrill of the hunt?  We once went out in search of the “Great Tree.”  Now we call QVC, and UPS delivers it to our door in a box. I’m afraid we’re losing the rich heritage of our past. 

     Not only does an artificial tree smell like the inside of a box; you have to put them together.  That means they have to be taken apart after Christmas.  You start missing parts. 

    What happens next year, when you can’t find the trunk?  It means YOU get to be the trunk, standing upright while holding a limb in each hand.  Then your wife flocks you until you look as though you’ve been stranded outside in a blizzard for a week.  To top it off, she sprays you so you’ll smell like a tree.  Try going to the mall like that. 

     I’ve threatened to terminate the relationship between my wife and daughter as our daughter has been spreading lies about the benefits of an artificial tree.  Now my own wife is hinting that she would like to join the subversives. “The money we spend each year on a real tree could go toward an artificial tree,” she insists. 

     “We had a nice tree last year,” I said.

     “No, we had a nice poinsettia on a stump” she answered.  “I want a tree this year.” 

      So I priced artificial trees and calculated that we could have one paid off by the time we were dead if we lived long enough.

To be continued...check back soon