Wednesday, December 21, 2011
It’s just a few days until Christmas. Is my shopping done? No. Am I at all organized? Not really. Does it bother me? Meh. I can wing it. I’ve never really been one of those people who gets worked up over the holidays. Maybe it’s my low blood pressure…perhaps it’s my laid back attitude…or maybe it’s the vodka.
Christmas will happen and everything will be where it’s supposed to be. My kids will be happy with what Santa brings them. My mom will love the mittens and hat I’m knitting her. We don’t have overlapping schedules of things to do and places to be. All is right with the world.
I even got my present early. I got a dead tree removed. Oh, I didn’t ask for that. It was something we were always going to do. The cedar tree had been hit by lightning a few summers ago. The top was sheared off and has long since been sliced up and burned in our fireplace. But the bottom half of the tree, the jagged, dead wood that loomed 40 feet over the house, that was still there, threatening to fall on every adorable elementary school kid who walks by our house twice a day.
A week ago, I was home with my son – who was sick. This guy rings the doorbell and introduces himself as “Spider.” Spider was in the neighborhood – he motioned to the flatbed out front loaded with logs. He noticed our tree and said he’d give us a good quote. I gave the card to Mr. Assassin.
Who called me yesterday and said, “Oh yeah, and Spider is coming over to take down the tree for $300 today.” I was pulling out of the driveway on a stealth mission to buy my daughter’s presents (I said I had to go get tampons – she didn’t want to go with me after that). Spider walks up to the car with a grin.
Spider is probably in his thirties, and weighs maybe 98 lbs. He’s got long, stringy hair, a huge slurpee in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
Him: “Hey, man! I’m here to do the tree thing.”
Me: “I can see that. Give me a minute to tell the kids (to lock the doors) not to let the dogs out (find their cell phones and take the safety off the flamethrower).”
Him: “That’s cool.”
I went in to make sure the kids were okay with a dude named Spider cutting down the tree in the yard with me gone. They assured me they were and locked up as I left. Meg, the teenager, insisted I go get “you know…that weird stuff,” as she wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully.
The tree is down, just like Spider said. The kids were fine. They didn’t even realize he was out there. And I got some of my shopping done. That is my Christmas miracle. At least, that’s how I see it.
Peace,
The Assassin