Adventures With an Artificial Tree
Man, I’m surprised that it’s actually been a while since I wrote, as it doesn’t feel that way. Maybe that’s a testament to how busy I’ve been with trying to finish up the new exporter code. This past weekend saw Hazel’s birthday party and the day before the decorating of the Christmas tree ... and before that was the adventure around getting the tree.
Friday saw a nice Nor-easter blow through New England. By the late afternoon I measured 14.5 inches of freshly fallen snow in the front yard. Friday was also the day that our new Christmas tree was scheduled to be delivered.
Amanda and I have always gotten real trees in the past, as we were recovering from a series of crazy Seuss-trees from our childhoods, but this year the Wife was adamant; no more needles or watering. She even insisted on an end to stringing lights. We were getting an artificial pre-lit tree. We wanted one that looked real, and I argued for a tall one that wouldn’t look dinky in the cathedral-ceilinged Family Room.
So Friday at noon I get a call from the delivery company, a young woman who informs me that because of the blizzard they’re only delivering to businesses. What day next week did I want it delivered? That won’t work, I explain, because with my wife’s work schedule the following day is the only one in which we can decorate the tree. Sitting in front of the laptop I jam over to Google Maps and plot directions. Could I drive down to their warehouse to pick up the tree myself tomorrow morning? No, not open on weekends. Could I meet the driver somewhere? Probably, as he’s only in Exeter which in normal weather is a fifteen minute drive. He’ll give me a call. When he does a few minutes later we agree to meet at in the parking lot of the new Lowes in Epping in thirty minutes. I hang up.
Amanda has the station wagon, which has the hatchback and the seats that fold down, and the roof rack. I have the Saturn sedan ... no roof rack there. The tree is nine-feet tall and weights over 120 pounds. I don’t have any rope long enough to tie it down. Well, good thing we’re meeting by Lowes, so I’ll buy rope there.
I hop in the car and start wondering about the road conditions. Visibility is bad, and I soon learn that the roads suck. Any faster than 30 mph and the tires start to slip. Ice quickly gets attached to the driver’s side windshield wiper, making it useless. I pull over into a parking lot to free the ice, and find the parking lot hasn’t been plowed. After freeing the ice from the wiper blade I need five minutes to rock the car free of the snow to get back on the road. I’m crawling down Route 125, passing the occasional car that’s spun off the road and down the embankment. A snowmobile is parked next to one car that went all the way down and kissed the trees.
The drive would normally take ten minutes, so thirty-five later I’m pulling into the parking lot in front of the waiting truck. I get out and walk over to the driver, who gives my car a stare and then turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “That isn’t gonna fit,” he says with a hint of mirth. I’m in no mood. “You’re not giving me a choice,” I reply. We hoist the box carrying the tree onto the roof. I ask Chuckles to do me a favor and wait five minutes while I head into Lowes and get the rope. As I’m checking out with 100 feet of nylon rope in hand, I ask if there’s anyone who might be able to help me tie something down on my roof, and I nice young kid named Eric walks out with me.
Eric’s a soft-spoken twenty something and a funky looking kid by New Hampshire standards. He’s already been out in the snow as he’s been on snow-blowing detail and he genuinely doesn’t seem to mind helping me. I sign what Chuckles needs signed and he’s now sounding apologetic, so I tell him that it’s not his fault and wish him a Merry Christmas (people still do that in New Hampshire). Eric and I take up the tying and we fumble with it a bit but he puts his back into it and we get it done fairly quickly. I’ve got a ten dollar bill in my wallet with his name on it and I give it to him with another Merry Christmas.
The drive back is slow but triumphant, and I even managed to remove the rope without cutting it. This tree had better last us forty-years at least.
Friday saw a nice Nor-easter blow through New England. By the late afternoon I measured 14.5 inches of freshly fallen snow in the front yard. Friday was also the day that our new Christmas tree was scheduled to be delivered.
Amanda and I have always gotten real trees in the past, as we were recovering from a series of crazy Seuss-trees from our childhoods, but this year the Wife was adamant; no more needles or watering. She even insisted on an end to stringing lights. We were getting an artificial pre-lit tree. We wanted one that looked real, and I argued for a tall one that wouldn’t look dinky in the cathedral-ceilinged Family Room.
So Friday at noon I get a call from the delivery company, a young woman who informs me that because of the blizzard they’re only delivering to businesses. What day next week did I want it delivered? That won’t work, I explain, because with my wife’s work schedule the following day is the only one in which we can decorate the tree. Sitting in front of the laptop I jam over to Google Maps and plot directions. Could I drive down to their warehouse to pick up the tree myself tomorrow morning? No, not open on weekends. Could I meet the driver somewhere? Probably, as he’s only in Exeter which in normal weather is a fifteen minute drive. He’ll give me a call. When he does a few minutes later we agree to meet at in the parking lot of the new Lowes in Epping in thirty minutes. I hang up.
Amanda has the station wagon, which has the hatchback and the seats that fold down, and the roof rack. I have the Saturn sedan ... no roof rack there. The tree is nine-feet tall and weights over 120 pounds. I don’t have any rope long enough to tie it down. Well, good thing we’re meeting by Lowes, so I’ll buy rope there.
I hop in the car and start wondering about the road conditions. Visibility is bad, and I soon learn that the roads suck. Any faster than 30 mph and the tires start to slip. Ice quickly gets attached to the driver’s side windshield wiper, making it useless. I pull over into a parking lot to free the ice, and find the parking lot hasn’t been plowed. After freeing the ice from the wiper blade I need five minutes to rock the car free of the snow to get back on the road. I’m crawling down Route 125, passing the occasional car that’s spun off the road and down the embankment. A snowmobile is parked next to one car that went all the way down and kissed the trees.
The drive would normally take ten minutes, so thirty-five later I’m pulling into the parking lot in front of the waiting truck. I get out and walk over to the driver, who gives my car a stare and then turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “That isn’t gonna fit,” he says with a hint of mirth. I’m in no mood. “You’re not giving me a choice,” I reply. We hoist the box carrying the tree onto the roof. I ask Chuckles to do me a favor and wait five minutes while I head into Lowes and get the rope. As I’m checking out with 100 feet of nylon rope in hand, I ask if there’s anyone who might be able to help me tie something down on my roof, and I nice young kid named Eric walks out with me.
Eric’s a soft-spoken twenty something and a funky looking kid by New Hampshire standards. He’s already been out in the snow as he’s been on snow-blowing detail and he genuinely doesn’t seem to mind helping me. I sign what Chuckles needs signed and he’s now sounding apologetic, so I tell him that it’s not his fault and wish him a Merry Christmas (people still do that in New Hampshire). Eric and I take up the tying and we fumble with it a bit but he puts his back into it and we get it done fairly quickly. I’ve got a ten dollar bill in my wallet with his name on it and I give it to him with another Merry Christmas.
The drive back is slow but triumphant, and I even managed to remove the rope without cutting it. This tree had better last us forty-years at least.
posted by Christopher A. Dellario at 8:07 AM
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