Trimming The Tree
　
This was a year that seemed to just not have enough time for everything. A lesson in planning, to do more things than I actually have time to accomplish. I had put off putting up the tree because it is such a daunting project for this house. For many years I have been a pain about each item being placed on the tree just so, and never duplicate too many of the same type of ornament too close together, resulting in everyone just dying to help decorate the tree, hmmm...yea. All of my family runs to the other side of the farm on that day hoping to avoid the dreaded "not there, here!", as I instruct each balls placement, and probably change it anyway, no matter how many times I have told them the placement is fine. It is a challenge to be around me on those days, and I am fully aware of it in my good mind, it's my out of touch with reality brain that goes wild, when it comes to seeing that massive green tree in place finally. I seem to become someone else altogether, and even I, couldn't recognize the snarling animal within. Yes, not a warm family time around here, when decorating the tree. Seems to be...not fun!


Well this time, this year with all my good intentions I became busier than usual. Never a good sign for my family. They know.....what will come....sooner or later. I was running behind with the schedule of putting up the tree, because I was working on a special project as a Christmas present. Having the idea back in the summer, I told myself I had plenty of time, and I proceeded to dawdle along at it.
I was painting Christmas scenes on oyster shells. Now, this should not have been a long drawn out project, if I had gotten the shells in a more timely manner. However, the "free" shells didn't come my way in time. Finally, one night when it was about 40 degrees, I got the oysters. My son and I sat on his deck and shucked one whole bushel of oysters. Padding and frying a whole bushel of oysters for Thanksgiving is a whole other story. (but I will tell you, I blue the fuse doing them!) 


By the time we were only half the way through, my sleeves were dripping with that wonderful slimy oyster "juice", you know the stuff that so many covet to use in their oyster stew. Not me, nooo.. I will never make oyster stew again! My hands were frozen and little pieces of shell, covered my entire body, head to toe, pricking my hands for a second time. As my leg begins to go numb, I realize I have been sitting on it and can't move, it too, is dripping with the wonderful juice of the oyster, prized shellfish of the sea. Yes, I am totally miserable, but this was my big idea, so I couldn't quit. When we finally finished the last miserable, tight, hard shell, and went in to the warmth of the house, the heat hit us in the face like we had stepped straight into a furnace. Not even minding or taking off the earmuffs, hat or coat, I step to the sink and begin to run hot water over my hands. My smile soon comes back as the warm water revives the blood flow again.


I take my buckets of oysters and proudly go home with them, satisfied that I finally have all the shells I need to continue my project. Of course now, I have a false sense of accomplishment, because I still had to clean all the shells and paint them. But tonight, I am content. I continue to be content and clean and paint a few shells at a time, until again, my time is getting shorter, as the day is getting closer, and I have decided to paint shells for all my friends and family. Oh how they will enjoy them, I haven't painted in such a long time, and since people kept asking me to, I am going to have a wonderful present for them. Ok.


I am insane. I have chosen a perfectly insane project to do so close to the holidays. Oh yes, I don't have all the paints I need either, the shells were free, but the rest of it was quite pricey to accomplish. Oh well, I am having a great time again with my shells and my paints, and will have a loving gift to give at the end. I still had a long way to go though, and all the decorating to do.
I wondered....could this be the year I cut back on decorating the house for Christmas....who would miss it, but me? I have a small tree that would work, and I can get it up in no time, and get right back to the beloved oyster shells. By the way, for some reason I thought those shells were bigger! They are truly tiny when you are trying to put a pond and skaters around it with a tree and a dog. Anyway, my great idea didn't work at all, my family informed me it just wouldn't be Christmas without my tree. Fine! I'll put up that great monstrosity of fir and frills and be done with it. But I'll tell you one thing, they won't be getting cookies and cakes this year, just the tree!


Now, not to sound too whiny, but..I have to keep the tree in the storage building outside. It's quite a process to bring in all the boxes and containers and the tree. It actually stands ten feet tall, so we never take the stand apart, it remains intact all year long. We finally have all the parts laid out and begin to place the branches in the holes that surround the pole. Something of a nightmare nature begins to crawl around us and the tree pole stands naked, time passing by like lightening striking. None of the branches would fit in the holes. My husband is helping me with this part, you know, because he is a man. Men can do more strenuous work better than women. Well bless his heart, he gave it all he had, but the pole stood tall and bare, with not one branch attached.


Frustrated that he couldn't figure out how to put the branch in the hole, he said a little word, hehe, he almost blubbered in his frustration.
In the interest of time, I had proceeded to place my oyster shells in the nice bucket that my loving husband had brought me, to soak in bleach while we put the tree up. I filled the bucket and poured in a half gallon of bleach, you know, it would work quicker that way. I place a piece of foil over the top to keep the fumes inside. Smart thinking, huh?


Quite satisfied with my plan I prance down the steps to help my husband, who at this point was bent over on his knees trying to force the branch into the hole, with no success. Have I told you I am a bit younger than him? Yes, so I have the better pair of eyes in this union of aged old folks, the better to see the hole with, said she. I peer into the hole and what do I find? Dirt Daubers!! Yes, those friendly little buzzy black bees that don't sting, but make a total mess of any kind of crevice they can find to fill with their own distinctive house. Yes, they had filled every hole on the pole with a house! It becomes a bit like cement, and I guess they plan it this way, to have a sturdy home for years to come.


Well, my husband says to me, "Now what are you going to do?" as though I am the only one to have an answer to this problem. Actually he's right, so I think quickly and go get my drill, put in a bit and start to drill. It works, sort of, I do have to get a bigger bit however. But as soon as I find the correct bit size, we make progress, drilling out every hole on that pole! With two drills going to town opening every hole, we feel that progress will soon be ours. Never mind the time this is taking, oh but it will be beautiful....


After some time, I begin to feel dizzy and sick, so I stop drilling and sit down. My husband looks at me as though I have quit the job, and he won't be drilling those tiny holes all by himself, oh no, this is my tree, not his! As the smoke and fog from the drilling of the mud dies down, I realize that I can smell bleach, strong bleach. Still thinking that it shouldn't have such a strong odor, because I covered it up, I close my eyes and try to clear my head. I go to the door and step outside, drinking in the fresh air. The air seemed to awake my husband, and he tells me he can smell something. Duh! Good for you honey, why do you think I am standing on the porch barefooted in December? Come join me honey, you'll love it. As he steps out, I glance up to the kitchen, where the oyster shells were soaking in their bucket, but the only thing I see is the shiny.. wet... floor. The whole floor was glistening with water flooding closer and closer to the dining room!


"Where did you get that bucket?" I scream. He stutters and rubs his face and tells me it is the one by the tree! @#$% I say loudly. He had lovingly brought me the bucket that we watered the trees with during the long, hot, dry summer. I had drilled holes in the bottom so the water would trickle out all night long. Now, never having been under the bucket, to see how long it took to "trickle", I had no idea. The bleach water had covered the entire kitchen and the fumes were overtaking us. It must have been the fumes that drove my husband insane, to pick such a.....stupid bucket! OH, no! The fumes came after he chose the bucket, so he must have been insane before the bleach went all over, and encompassed the kitchen. The floor was clean, though, I have to say in his defense.


We all know what a six pack is right? A six pack of Bounty! That's what it took to clean up the mess, with the doors wide open to suck out the "cleansing" odor. Needless to say the tree did not get put up that day. The pole stood alone, for two more days, until we had the whole bleach odor debacle out of our mouths, systems, I mean. I must say, I truly have no inclination to put this stupid tree up now.But, we fired up our drills, we each have our own as you may have guessed by now, and continued with the tiresome chore of drilling out the holes. One by one.


We do get that gorgeous tree up and decorated, one more year. The shells had gotten all the time they were going to in bleach, however I still had to scrub each one with a toothbrush, before again attempting to paint a lovely scene on their tiny faces.
The gift of the shells was received with joy and appreciation, and gave me the sense of well being again.
I write this story today because I am reminded of it by the fact, that I am going out in the river today to collect shells. It's February, and the water is too cold for fish, but I am going, at low tide today, to try once again to find the elusive shells to paint. These shells are not oyster shells, and should offer me a different and larger surface for my painting, and hopefully my bucket and boots won't leak!