Bye Bye to the Christmas Tree

Once Christmas is over -- this being December 26 -- one of the most unpleasant reminders of the holiday is the Christmas tree. There it still sets, suddenly unwelcome, like a hangover.

I look over and feel nothing but queasiness, whereas, somehow, before Christmas and on Christmas Day it was such a great thing to see. I really don't know what it is about a Christmas tree on Dec. 26. It's not like it has rabies or rickets or some other communicable disease. It's the same thing it was yesterday ... and isn't Christmas supposed to have 12 days and not just one?

The tree I have is one that comes in a box. Artificial. Unless you're a tree grower or the Optimist Club, the only kind to have. I had a real one for the last time in the '70s. Unfortunately I was slow about taking it down and it dried out and the needles fell into the carpet, keeping me up till 3 or 4 in the morning cleaning it up. Never again! And I've been good to that vow.

But still, it's work to take it down and get it in the box. There's ornaments and various knickknacks on it. Then there's another problem, unplugging it, knowing it's not going to work right when I plug it in next year. It didn't work when I plugged it in this year. I messed with it for an hour, changing a few bulbs and doing all kinds of things, to no avail. Then I left it half-on, as it was, and when I came back in the room a few hours later it had fixed itself! Can't depend on that every year!

I got the idea today that if the tree could talk, and if it knew my disgust with it on Dec. 26, it'd probably say, "I didn't ask to be set up. You brought me into this world. If there's something wrong, obviously it's something in your own psyche and nothing about me. I'm the exact same tree I was yesterday." Which, you know what? I agree with!

Everything about the Christmas tree, except for the physical thing, is in the psyche. I think it's something like this, recalling stuff I heard as a kid: The ancient whoever, our ancestors, thought when winter came everything was going to die. So to keep things alive, they brought a tree in the house. Then, I guess, if everything did die, all they had to do was take the tree out in the spring and everything would resurrect. How they kept the needles out of the carpet, that's what I don't know. Probably wooden floors.

I'm not especially a big believer in a magic tree keeping things alive in the spring, certainly not an artificial tree. But there's still something in my psyche, apparently, like everyone else, that says, "Must have tree in house ... just in case everything dies, or whatever." Even Republicans have Christmas trees. They might not accept global warming and the need to save the whole planet, but by golly, we're going to have plants in March!

Bye bye, tree. Back in the box you go. See ya around Thanksgiving!

A Fig Leaf Over the Crotch

Here's a picture that packs a punch! Don't get too close or you might find out how literally true that is! Struttin', clickin' my fingers, an occasional thrust for good luck. The only thing I'm lacking is a stripper pole. And, dammit, I saw one at a garage sale just three weeks ago! But how does a 60-year-old man carry a stripper pole up to the lady with the cash box and buy it? It'd be like, "This guy's a pervert."

That's her opinion, obviously, since I already know how normal I am. It's exhausting to be so normal, but I don't mind it, since I get eight hours of sleep almost every night. Then the next day I'm back up, looking for new opportunities to express my normalcy. Which occasionally do include attaching huge leaves to my pants and taking pictures for the anonymous internet trade.

But there is an upside, no pun intended. As here, it gives me a little something to share with the lady readers of my blog. And a few of the guys I know. This is the kind of erotica I like, the best kind, leaving lots to the imagination. A handsome man covered only with his shirt and jeans and a well-positioned fig leaf.

I personally think modesty is very sexy. (I hope that's not "too much information.") It's better, in my opinion, if someone is modest, better, say, than just letting it all hang out. And in my case, to be wearing underwear in addition to blue jeans and a fig leaf ... what could be more modest than that?

That's one of the biggest thing I remember from church when I was a kid. How Adam and Eve each had fig leaves over the pertinent stuff. Adam with one big leaf, Eve with three. At first they didn't know they were naked, then when their eyes were opened it occurred to them. That's pretty damned modest.

Maybe what I need to do is parley the anonymous internet trade spoken up above into a money-making enterprise. Get subscribers to see my latest leaf. Video it and make my thrusting somewhat more interesting. Different colors of pants. Spandex or my jogging suit that I use for pajamas. Anything for a buck, as long as it adheres to my modesty and normalcy, of course.

So Tall A Tree, So Small A Man

I'm seeing this farmer dude looking at this tree like he's thinking of cutting it down. And I'm like, "No, that's not happening!"

And that's it. End of story. I won't give in. I won't let it happen. "Thus far and no farther," I say, "I will protect this tree, because trees are our future, and you're not cutting down our future!"

I'm sorry, that's the way I am. I simply lashed out because I saw it happening. I was the guy there on the scene. If it wasn't for me (no one else was there, just me and him), he would've cut it down. But I gave him something to think about.

Really, I can be very vociferous if I believe in something strong enough. Vociferous? Is that the right word? I think so, vocal in a furious way. And I really was. I laid it all on the line.

He looked at me and started spouting some bullshit about it being his land, his property, even his tree, and he would cut it down if he damn well pleased. "Anyway," he wondered, "What are you doing on my land? This timber is posted!" By now he was in a full blown rant, ranting at me, that he would call the sheriff, etc.

I was like, "I don't give a rat's ass who you call, but you are not cutting down this tree! I don't care if I have to take on the whole f------- U.S. Army, that tree is not coming down!" And that's when he started backing up, even though he had an axe in his hand. One, he wasn't going to use an axe on me. That'd be prison for him. And two, he didn't know what I was capable of. As far as he knew, I might charge him and use the axe on him. Believe me, I was tempted...

He looked at me and relaxed the axe, thinking that might defuse the situation. So why was I on his land? That's weird, I don't really know. I thought I was just going for a walk, but maybe it was where I was supposed to be. I wanted to take a picture of some trees, then I see this guy getting ready to cut down the tree. He had a cloth to wash his hands with afterwards and everything! So I jumped in!

Then everything kind of calmed down. He looked at me, I looked at him, and both of us knew something had to give. But I wasn't going to budge. He came over, offering me the hand of friendship. Then we got down to brass tacks, what my motive was in saving the tree.

I explained, "You might think you're a big man. But, no offense, you're a shrimp just like me. This tree is a lot taller." I went on, reminding him of a famous song from the '40s, recorded by Bing Crosby, "So Tall A Tree," which has the great lyric, "So tall a tree, so small a man," reminding us that the tree is big and we're so little.There's some comparisons with man and trees in the song, and man comes out, so to speak, on the short end of the stick.

With that, he gave up the fight. And we both walked away ... with the tree still standing!

This all happened yesterday. Then today I was thinking of it again, and going over the lyrics of the Bing Crosby song. Part of the lyrics say:

A man may grow for all he's worth,
But only tree's are down to earth.
So tall a tree, so small a man.

With that in mind, I wrote some fresh new lyrics to go with the song. See if you like what I've written, and see if you agree. I hope you do. Here they are:

A man might grow to 6 foot 4,
A tree will always go 1 inch more.
So tall a tree, so small a man.

A man might reach the clouds on high,
A tree will wave as it goes by.
So tall a tree, so small a man.

A man will always want for height,
A tree will tower out of sight.
So tall a tree, so small a man.

A man could be a giant bloke,
But to a tree he's just a joke.
So tall a tree, so small a man.

A man might grow up big and tough,
But to a tree it's not enough.
So tall a tree, so small a man.

A man might be all you'd want,
But to a tree he's always a runt.
So tall a tree, so small a man.

I Wrestle God At The Wadi

I was left alone last night, and wrestled with a man (if I may call him a man) until the break of day. And it wasn't the Pink Professor -- would that it were, the territory would be familiar, being virtually identical to my own.

I fought like a banshee -- a banshee that's really trained for fighting. I fought so hard, the guy I fought saw he could not prevail. Only he touched the curvature of my belly, admittedly bigger than it should be this close to my next doctor's appointment, and I became immediately hungry. The longer we wrestled, the more desperately I wanted to break for a sandwich.

But of the two of us, who said uncle first? Him! He said, "Let me go, for the day is breaking!" I went, "It does every morning about this time." Then I cried, "I will keep my grip until you bless me." The lesser not usually the blesser, this was awesome, but I'm thinking he let me win. Still, I'll take my power where I find it.

He asked my name and I told him. I won't withhold my name if someone really needs it. Of course I don't bandy it around online much, because I'm paranoid about my future viability. But for someone I've clutched all night, if he doesn't deserve it, no one does. In response, he told me that my name and standing would be greatly enhanced, as it was his pleasure to give. "As a prince have you power with God and men and have prevailed."

Then I asked his name. Of course I was curious. He balked at the question, and squirmed, but I tightened my grip. He saw the pink light of day peeking over the horizon and finally coughed it up, "Shankar Bhagwan, the creator."

We spoke theologically (mythologically, same thing) about the Sembar tree, and he confirmed that indeed the holy spirits live in it. Then he noticed how I'm balding and chuckled. We both chuckled about it, as we remembered how he'd created three great trees from three hairs pulled from his body. In jest, I said, "I still have enough hairs on my body -- all told -- to come up with a forest. But if there's any similarity between the type of hair and the tree it produces, it might be a forest of kinky shrubs. But the bare spot on my calves would make a great clearing in a savannah."

I was very glad that I'd read at least the first few pages of his book, "The Night Life of Trees"! Because of that, and the vise-like grip I had -- and I could've crushed the nuts of one very potent nearby tree -- he blessed me there. I relaxed my hold.

I called the name of the place, Peepul, after the Peepul tree, the creator's home, worshipped by Hindus and the forest people alike. What a morning! I reflected, I have seen Shankar Bhagwan face to face, and I've lived to tell about it! Then as I passed over the stream of Peepul, the sun rose on me, and I felt the tummy ache, my hunger pangs still there and getting worse.

Therefore, my people -- the vast issue from my loins (it could happen, given the right combination of Cialis and women) -- will not cease having appetites and regular meals forever, because he touched my belly, and the pangs of hunger overcame me at the wadi.

Note: This is based on Genesis 32:24-32, and "The Night Life of Trees," by Bhajju Shyam, Durga Bai, and Ram Singh Urveti. It's quite a lovely book, published by Tara Publishing. It's handmade, each page being silk-screened by hand on black paper. The above picture is from the first few pages. There's no page numbers.

What I Think Is An Acorn

I woke up thinking today. And what I was thinking was that everything I think is an acorn that could become an oak tree.

Most of what I think, honestly, never becomes an oak tree. Being acorns, they gather on the ground and rot, I guess. I'd like to say they wither on the vine, but that's a whole different plant.

Acorns, though, really don't gather on the ground and rot. I mean, they potentially could ... if they fell on some really poor ground. But if they fell on really poor ground, there wouldn't have been an oak tree there in the first place.

I visited at a place in town a few times over the summer, and I saw a couple of oak trees in this guy's yard, plus I saw hundreds, maybe thousands of acorns. He explained to me the pattern of what was going on. And it was an eye opener. There's an oak tree, and there's all these acorns it's dropping. They're on the ground. And a bunch of them start sprouting up.

So now you've got literally hundreds of little trees all around. But at this point they're a total nuisance. Because the property owner only wants the one parent tree, and not to have it surrounded by hundreds of little trees. So he was mowing them. But you know what happened? They grow again. They get mowed again. And they grow again, and again, and again. You can pull one up and see it's been mowed five or six times and yet it's sprouted over and over.

That's a picture of my thoughts. See? You've got me in the center. Then I'm thinking my thoughts, and they're falling everywhere. Some of them I pick up -- this is where the figure breaks down. I pick them up and do things with them, like write them down or act on them in some way. At this point they have nothing to do with acorns and oaks. But most of them lay scattered all around and ignored. Again, the figure breaks down, because I go about my business unperturbed by anything to do with acorns and oaks.

The inspiring part about it -- and remember, even though I'm the parent tree in the center, that doesn't mean I'm going to give way for another tree -- is that occasionally a thought of mine will be like an acorn that falls from an oak. Then, somehow, maybe it's carried by a mental squirrel far away from its parent, and it becomes an inspiration for someone else. It's conceivable. The squirrel plants it, it sprouts up, becomes an oak, the passage of time is greatly accelerated, being nothing like the slowness of the growth of an actual oak, and it bears fruit, although there's technically no oak fruit except more acorns, and everyone's blessed.

Meanwhile, here I am, the parent tree, getting up in the morning, thinking about the fruit I cast off, and hoping it makes good sense to you.

Tree Top Hiatus

The idea I had yesterday for a tree house theme was very exciting. I thought of it in depth through the morning, and then after a while the mania wore off and I was back to normal.

Those are interesting times, when you feel like you need a recorder to get down every detail, because it's wild. I was thinking, What is that primal tree? Yggdrasil? Something like that. That is one weird looking word, assuming that's close enough to the spelling. Looks like something Frank Zappa might name a kid.

What exactly Yggdrasil is I'm not sure. But something in my mind tells me it's like everything else in life, in mythology, just another way of representing what's inside us. That's always the short answer. Put that as the answer and you'll never be too far off.

So the great concept of yesterday, which hasn't carried over to today, to tell the truth (nothing's quite as expansive as yesterday, since it's all lightning in a bottle anyway, tough to capture at will), zeroed in on that. And it was just a tossed off idea.

Anyway, the idea became, as yesterday morning went on, that my hiatus would not formally end but would be transsimplified (or transimplicated) into or with the tree house theme. This would serve a couple very useful purposes. 1) That my hiatus would for all practical purposes end; 2) That I would not be psychologically injured when it was suddenly gone. Because I really am invested in it, even identified with it. If you see a forlorn guy on the square with a button that pleads, "Ask Me About My Hiatus," that's me. By this time next week it might say "Ask Me About My Tree."

Oh, what I could do with this! Only time will tell, but my mind is racing so far ahead I'm going to need bloodhounds to find it later. The only thing more cosmic than a tree is an egg, and of course I like both. If I'm up in a tree house, wow!