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Four foot Christmas tree

December 5, 2015
Photo on 10-11-15 at 5.13 PM #3

Jack and I can be pretty good friends, if I let him watch Donald Duck.

December 5, 2015

P. asked me, “Did you drink a whole bottle of champaign last night?”  My face felt hot, so I buried it deeper into the pillow.  “Becky and I shared it.”  She had maybe one glass, I thought.  “I didn’t think you liked champaign,” she said.  “Sometimes I do.”

I had trouble going back to sleep.  A bit after seven a.m., so I rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen.  I have to walk carefully around our bed because there isn’t much room.  Kitchen floor felt warm except for that one strip near the stove where there’s a foundation wall below.  Icy there.  I had to pee.

I usually hold my water while I do the things I think are most important.  You know, like take my meds.  When I took my two antidepressants and one blood pressure pill I said a prayer to ask the medicine, Please work!  I fixed coffee.  I took out the copper basket with the grounds and drummed it back and forth against the inside walls of the garbage can. ‘baddabaddabadda.’  Then I tossed the remains of last night’s pot and rinsed, then…you know the routine.  I often wonder as I’m rinsing the copper basket if I should run hot or cold water.  I’ve heard cold is better.  Maybe hot water would cause any grease in the pipe to adhere to the coffee grounds.  Just a theory.

Finally while the coffee started its dribble into the pot I relieved my bladder.

I took P. a cup of coffee to our bed.  She opened an eye, smiled, thanked me, sat up.

Later this morning, we went for a Christmas tree with our niece Becky and her four-year-old son Jack.  Becky had asked last night if we could take some pictures with the Rolleiflex that she could then develop herself.  Her older sister Ruth had done just that maybe 20 years ago.  Anyhow, I think it’s good to use the camera.  To keep it limber.  To keep its shutter and winding mechanism working.  Plus, the basement darkroom is in shape now that my nephew and I rebuilt it.

“Are you going to dress him cute, or what?” I asked Becky on the way to the nursery.  She knew I was trying to be funny so she didn’t answer me.  I looked back at Jack.  “You know, cute shoes.”  P. said he was already wearing cute shoes.  You know, kids super hero tennies with velcro strips.

Becky’s idea was that she had wanted me to take some pictures at the nursery while we were buying the tree.  She said she wanted one of him pulling the tree off the lot.  “Way cute,” she said.

Well, we got to the nursery, but Jack didn’t want to wear his cute black peacoat.  P. and I went into the nursery office.  I walked through the nursery flower bed.  Soon Jack walked in with his mom, looking cute.

Then he didn’t want to go out to the yard with us to select a tree.  Then he didn’t want his picture taken.  Pleading, cajoling, begging, trickery:  they all failed to get him to cooperate.  Then he hid his face.  Well, I did shoot some film.  He was far away, or moving, wearing a frown, once in a while he had a faint smile.  Becky asked Jack to be more fun.

Isn’t that how things often go?

The tree we bought, a subalpine fir, was four feet high, just right for Jack.  While I put the camera away, I heard Becky say, “Oh, that’s so cute!”  Yes, Jack was grinning.  He had hung a little cloth snowman on one of the limbs.

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