A Dark Day In December

I stood in the middle of the lot to catch my breath and watch the rain puddle around my feet.  I was cold, soaked and beyond miserable.  Any vestige of Christmas spirit had been washed away long ago.  Instead of being surround by the scent of freshly cut pine trees and the merry music of pull saws, all I heard was the splashing of mud and the constant drumming of rain.  Christmas in the Northwest.  Ho.  Ho.  Ho.

By now, all the trees looked the same.  I wiggled my toes in their wet socks and peered up from my wet hood.  Somewhere above me David and his parents tromped about eyeing the trees.  They did not seem to mind the rain.  Or the mud.  Or the biting cold wind.  No, they were one of those perpetual jolly families that brimmed over with helping hands and slaps on the back.  I was suppose to be looking for the perfect tree.  Instead, I was trying to keep myself as close to the hot cocoa house as possible so when this miserable ordeal was over I would be the first one out of this horrid weather.  Not the best Christmas spirit but have I mentioned the rain?  When I say Christmas, do you picture dark December skies and a downpour of biblical proportions or Bing Crosby jauntily singing about snow?  Crosby all the way, right?  Well, I had lost my ho ho ho after David had vetoed tree number 23.  Apparently it had a large bald spot on the south side.  Yeah, he was one of those guys with an infallible internal compass.  I was pretty good at finding up and down but actual directions were beyond my keen.  Apparently, tree picking was also out of my league.  I sighed and tried to shake the water off my back.  My adorable wool lined coat that was perfect for chilly San Diego nights was not holding up well.   Who knew there was an actually difference between "water proof" and "water repellent".  My poor Uggs were totally waterlogged and useless.  And my hand knitted wool gloves were quickly regressing into a wet wad of animal fur.

I peered again up the hill against the rain.  David and family were long gone.  That hot cocoa was too tempting.  I glanced about and turned tail and headed down the hill dodging firs and nobles and pines.  I had almost made it to the bottom when disaster struck.  My boots hit a slick spot and before I knew it I had landed butt first in a mud puddle right in front of the warming hut.  My rear ached and my cheeks burned.  I was done.  Done!  Gathering my soggy, shredded dignity, I rightly myself, ignored the snickers of the boys by the sales tent and marched to the warming barn.  Neither mud nor rain nor cold could stand in my way.  I was a girl with the need for cocoa that would not be denied.  My only thought as I threw open the door was to wonder what was the protocol for breaking up with a boyfriend at a tree lot.....