Our dead, brown, Christmas tree is still sitting in our driveway next to the shed. I guess I missed the city memo listing all the hoops we needed to jump through to have them take our tree away this year, because it sat out by our trash for three consecutive trash days and still no takers.
No worries, though. I’ll just get me a saw, hack it to pieces, and stuff it in the yard waste barrel. Sounds like a Stephen King novel, doesn’t it?
I mention this Christmas tree debacle because it reminds me of a story from the Glory Days. Years ago when the whole world was still single and I was living in NY, my friend Sarah loaded her post-Christmas tree into the back of her little pick-up and set off down the street to dump it at collection spot the city set up (the city I live in apparently has no such hospitality).
As her speed picked up the wind caught the tree and sent it flying out the back and into the street. Like a good citizen, she pulled over and dragged the tree to the curb and propped it up against a bus stop sign. Not really sure how to proceed since she didn’t want the tree to fly out of her truck again, possibly hurting someone or causing an accident, she left it there.
And there it sat.
It kept the good people waiting there for the bus on Dexter Avenue company.
And when I visited Seattle from NY in July, it was still sitting there next to the bus stop.