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WPCNR The Sunday Bailey. News & Comment by John F. Bailey. January 2, 2022:

This is one of the saddest days of the year.

Brenda Starr always insists we take the Christmas Tree down.

 I remember years ago we kept a tree up in our apartment until February because we did not want to take it down. We eventually  eased the tree off the terrace of our Tarrytown apartment over the railing and into the parking lot below because the needles were dropping so much it would have made a trail of pine needles down the carpeted hall to the elevator through the luxury lobby. I felt that might have gotten us evicted.

But now we are much more on a schedule. Bridge on line. Reading the daily book quota. Writing up the news. Feeding the demanding cat on her (the cat’s) schedule, The tree has to go out today because of my schedule during the week.

 The last day of the two week holiday is by the decree of the editor, Ms. Starr has to be reserved for UN-decorating the tree.

Taking the lights off. Extricating the tree from its stand and pushing it out the backdoor.

The tree was so perfect and congenial this year. Perfect shape. Highly hospital every evening during mandatory Netflixing, Britboc, Acorn, and Amazon Prime video watching.

But then, every husband, boyfriend, or significant other who picks the tree always picks the perfect tree.

As I wrote two weeks ago, a Christmas Tree is like your wife, you know her when you first see her.

The tree is happy to be selected. It adapts to whatever holiday frivolities are placed upon it.

The highlight of every pinetree’s short life is being selected to be a Christmas Tree.

The tree never wants to leave your home, and you are always sad to be removing the bulbs, the icicles, ornaments of long ago. The pictures of children when they were young.

The Christmas Tree when fully decorated is a work of art of the memories of your life, good times, how you felt at different times of your years as a family. It is the Ghost of Christmas Past and Christmas Today.

In an uncanny alchemy of feelings and memories, looking at the decorations takes you back in time and parents, grandparents, doting aunts and uncles, once more are with you whenever you look at the ornaments you have hung.

When we gradually removed them today, I removed the bulbs and, Ms. Starr put them away (she is very organized) in their old cardboard boxes. When I broke one, she said I was removing them carelessly prompting a spat. But I pointed out it was still hangable next year.

When you get to be my age you do not know if this is your last Christmas Tree, so each year I pick one out, I enjoy the process and the decorating, the specialness of the season and the choosing of my gifts with care.

The socializing we all used to enjoy decades ago still remains fresh in our memories.

But, because of the relentless palor of the spread of covid now engulfing our community. We could not see friends as we usually do.

We saw our children. Which is always a pleasure because they do not live far away.

Now on this last day of the Christmas Tree, this muted Merry, not jolly Christmas, the tree made the season.

When I was trying to lift the tree, still standard stalwart and shining down to just its natural coat of branches, it seemed particularly hard to lift out of its stand.

Despite all  screws of the stand being unfastened, it seemed to be hanging onto the stand with its stalwart sturdy stump. I kept gently trying to lift it out of the stand three times.

Still it would not release the stand.

On my next try, I embraced the tree.

It seemed to embrace me back.

It lifted out easily.

It was saying goodbye.

I will miss it.

The perfect tree was departing after another perfect Christmas.