The Only Tree

(It's a "family" of cedars I discovered on one of my walks ... couldn't resist ... )

WHOA! Where has this year gone? I know ... it’s not over yet ... but just a few more days ... a few more quickly gliding hours ... and it will be.


There were so many things I had planned to do this year. I won’t even list a few. Take my word for it ... there were a LOT of things I was going to do this year.


I suppose I could list the ones I did do ... those projects which were brought to a conclusion ... but I’d have to spend some serious time ... and hard thinking ... to come up with even a short list.


Year’s end always seems to take me by surprise. I don’t know why that is. I have a calendar always nearby. I know it’s coming.  Still ... I wake up, like this morning ... and SURPRISE ... realize it’s almost gone.


I’ve enjoyed it, though.


I always enjoy hearing from old friends ... new ones, too ... I enjoy sharing some of the bits and pieces that I’ve written ... random thoughts which will soon be forgotten, even by the most attentive listener. I even enjoy passing along thoughts that Professor Squigglee shares with me (he’s such a character).


So, even at the end of weeks like this one ... when it seems that almost nothing is going on in and around Brimm Manor ... I guess I’ll keep posting these “letters from home” ... and watching my electronic mailbox for a reply.


-S&G-


LOREE (Kansas) again wins the coveted magic, mystical, mythical GOLD STAR ... for, naturally, being the first to respond to last week’s posting of CHOSEN WORDS.


“SURPRISE!” she says. “Here I am bright and early, but not bushy-tailed by any stretch of the imagination.” (It’s almost as though she’s waiting to pounce the moment CW is posted and becomes available for all the world to see)


Loree continues: “I remember as a kid, when we could hardly wait for the first really hard freeze that would keep our own pond frozen all winter ... often under two or three feet of snow!


“That was the signal for my sister and me to grab the snow shovels and make ‘roads’ all over the ice. We would then settle on a prime location and ‘build’ our own personal snow house ... usually a couple of ‘rooms’ connected by a shoveled-out walkway.


“Ah, that was when mostly all you got for Christmas was more snow, so you had to ‘clean your house’ with more shoveling! Imaginations ran wild ... I could imagine bright red curtains, fluttering at a ‘window’ where I happily washed dishes, prepared meals, etc.


“Now in reality, nothing could be further from the truth. I spent hours on that pond, just to AVOID washing dishes in our REAL house, peeling potatoes and picking up snow boots (those always left a muddy puddle on the floor), coats, and retrieving - by finding - lost gloves.


“Winter was not a pretty sight inside our house, but ... later on ... spring brought much relief!”


-S&G-


Professor Squigglee interrupts at this point ... to point out ... as I usually do about this time of year ... that we’re another day nearer to spring!




-S&G-


TODAY’S POEM: We are rooted in the places of our beginning. Oh, we may develop tendrils as we reach for new ideas, seek new adventures, pursue careers.


We may even become "tumbleweeds," traveling the countryside ... perhaps visiting ... and even settling ... abroad. But our roots remain in those places where we began, and this is apparent to us when we sit quietly, thinking ... really just thinking.




One example, in my case, involves Christmas trees. Ours was always a cedar tree, because they grew so abundantly on the hills overlooking our home. It was a special treat to go trudging out with Grandpa ... a few days before Christmas ... to pick just the right tree ... not too tall ... not too skinny ... for our living room.




There was just something about the smell of cedar filling the whole house.




When I saw another kind of Christmas tree ... on my first visit to Chicago, which seemed so distant, like another planet ... I couldn't believe THAT was their Christmas tree.




It didn't look like OUR tree at all. Its branches seemed almost bare, compared to what I had been accustomed to. It didn't have that cedar smell. And it certainly didn't have the bird's nest which I had come to expect to find somewhere in our tree.




Oh, I've finally come around to accepting other kinds of Christmas trees ... even the artificial models ... but I still find myself thinking about those other trees from my early years.




The poem:




THE ONLY TREE


I grew up believing
that a cedar was
the only true tree
for Christmas,
plain, struggling
stubbornly
on hillside clay,
having so much
in common
with folks like us.
© 1996
(originally published in Capper's)


-S&G-


COMMENT? Feel free ... below, if you like.


Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too ... especially for more detailed observations, to


 rbrimm@peoplepc.com


... and it helps if you put "Squiggles" or "S&G" ... something like that ... in the subject line (just remember, no religion or politics ... please!)


-S&G-


Oh, and if you’d like to see what’s up with my other ... DAILY blog
... here’s a link to it:


http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/


Thanks for paying a visit.




-S&G-


UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!


-S&G-


© 2009