Tradition is what you resort to when you don't have the time or the money to do it right.
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- Kurt H. Adler
At my house, we don't really have that many seasonal traditions, but we do have some holiday habits.
One of them is that we always get our Christmas tree this first weekend after Thanksgiving.
It's the time every year when the family hops into the SUV and drives to a local lot. Once there, we review the rows of evergreen sentinels and consider a selection based upon a number of logical and rational criteria.
Then we ignore those selections and take the one my wife likes.
We lash it to the roof, bring it home and stand it up in the corner where it always stands.
Those trees have weathered a lot over the years. Before the house 10-year-old was a cool, slouching pre-slacker, he was a growing, grasping toddler who thought any tree worth all those lights and silver bells was a tree worth climbing.
Then there were the years - two consecutive, I recall - when the tree stand mysteriously broke, allowing the tree to fall ("TIMBER!") in a heap, spilling greenish water on the beige carpet.
But this year might top all when it comes to the potential for December disaster.
This year, we have a puppy.
Not just any puppy, either, but a sneaky little white terrier, prone to mischief. A little devil dog.
We have learned to keep him in sight at all times because if we don't, we will later find him chewing up some heirloom behind the living room couch or clawing the wallpaper in the kitchen or gnawing the varnish off dining room chairs.
His reactions upon being discovered vary. Sometimes he sulks, dropping his head in guilty admission, then slinking away to a safe corner.
Other times, he defiantly displays the forbidden object in his fangs, faces you fearlessly, then dares you to catch him as his short, stubby legs take him around the house on quick, darting evasive maneuvers.
Which brings up this year's tree. I suggested not having a tree, which, from my male perspective, makes lots of sense.
Let me only say that someone in the house representing the female perspective determined that was not an option.
Then I suggested we place the tree in the middle of an old baby's playpen.
"It will look like it's in a little park," I reasoned, "just like it has a little fence around it."
That suggestion was also rejected.
"Maybe the dog won't notice," the 10-year-old said, but no one thinks that's likely.
I am left with the only alternative.
I will put the tree where it always sits. I will anchor it in the corner with fishing line secured into the drywall. I will make sure the only ornaments on the tree are chewable, nonbreakable and expendable.
I am publicly optimistic and privately prepared.
Between you and me, I expect to see the fir fly.
Reach Bill Kirby at (706) 823-3344 or bill.kirby@augustachronicle.com.
