my traditional what-eccentric-thing-would-you-do-if-you-were-ludicrously-wealthy-and-had-already-saved-all-of-the-suffering-animals-and-people? response is that i would bronze my underwear, but i hadn't really thought it through very carefully. i don't like looking at underwear all that much, for one thing, and i think i was assuming that i'd be able to wear the underwear once it was bronzed, which just doesn't make sense. what i would actually do if i had a substantial sum of money that i felt comfortable spending in an utterly self-indulgent way is this: i would rent a u-haul, wait until the end of the night on christmas eve, drive out to the neighborhood tree lots, and buy all of their orphans. i would take them home and make a forest in my apartment, tree after tree after tree. i'd bring out some blankets and a lantern, curl up on the floor and tuck into a book, and pretend i'd created a new dimension.
we have only one tree; fortunately it's not an especially tall one, for i don't have a u-haul, it couldn't be delivered, and i had to carry it a mile in the rain. i festooned it with skulls (rounded up from where i'd hidden them around the apartment in october; one was in joe's shoe, i found another in our refrigerator's cheese drawer, and a third was behind the shampoo in our shower), feathers (recycled from the office) and, okay, a few bats (rolled up and coaxed into a few of the extra glass ornaments). welcome home, tree.
5 comments:
I love your tree. Our trees can be friends. They both involve skulls. I also like your forest inside idea. If you do that, can I come over with my own book and a batch of Bloody Marys?
YES.
I KNEW YOU WERE GONNA USE THE BATS
who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly
e.e.c.
But you see, we DID look for a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve and there were NONE to be found until someone drove ALL THE WAY to Mountain View, and that person happened to be my Jewish brother-in-law who got all KINDS of family points and well, just well, stories tell themselves in odd ways. Merry Christmas oh dear L. You have become a persona in my family, and I hope to take you and the boy child and perhaps Manda if she will, out to dinner somewhere near you, sometime in the not too distant future.
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