My Arbitrary Christmas Tree...

Every Christmas, since Bob died—this coming will make number three—I am absolutely certain I won't be "into" Christmas this year, that I'll quietly go into hibernation and  let it pass without fanfare. And each year, at the most random time, I'll get hit—make that blindsided—by the damn Christmas Spirit, and eventually have to succumb to the overwhelming desire to have to go out, now and get a tree, or pass out from the sheer anxiety of not doing it, which then sets this whole blessed mess into motion.

This year's random blindside moment couldn't have been more timely—it happened just before the Arctic freeze settled into Minnesota for a long winter's nap. There I was, sitting at my desk, snuggled into a blanket, minding my own business while working on a major assignment due this week, when out of nowhere, BAM! I absolutely had to stop typing and go out and get a tree—now, dammit! The past two Christmases, I've gone to Kruger's Christmas Trees in Lake Elmo and have been drawn to short, stout, adorable (read: easily handled by short, stout, adorable redhead) Fraser firs, but this year, with Thanksgiving so late and the cold settling in too soon, I found myself dreading this little tradition that I'd started a few years ago, and even started eyeballing my pathetic Boston fern, shedding dried out, crusty leaves in the corner of my dining room, as a possible Christmas tree understudy. I am still purging, downsizing, reorganizing, reinventing my life here in St. Paul, and the though of trying to fit a damn Christmas tree into this already crammed-full apartment sent me into mini-panic attacks. . .

But there I was, working on this paper—maybe writer's block had something to do with it. Or undiagnosed, unmedicated ADD—when suddenly, I had to get a tree. NOW!!! It was dark, the temps were plummeting, winds threatening to pick up—if I didn't go right away, who knows when, if ever, I'd have the guts to head out. Without changing out of the pajamas I'd been in since the night before (I know, right? uggg! It's finals week, peeps!), I grabbed my coat, purse, keys, jumped into the Jeep and headed down to my local Ace Hardware on Dale and Grand, where I had seen trees stacked in front of the building a few days prior.

Lemme tell you one thing: Ace Hardware ain't Kruger's. Not by a long shot. If you're looking for a beautiful, memorable Christmas tree experience, go to Krugers, frozen tundra or no. Even if you don't cut your own, Kruger's ambiance, setting, hot chocolate, friendly and knowledgeable staff and sustainability philosophies make the experience so worth it. It's a 4-generation, local business, you know that your tree is grown on site, and is replaced, recycled, renewed, year after year . . . cycle of life. . . the year Bob died, the son of the founder of Krueger's, 2nd generation, had just died, also from cancer, if I remember correctly . . . No offense to Ace, but all they have is a bunch of trees, bound up like Christmas hams, crammed in a lot staffed by a teenage kid who will say ummm, I don't know to any questions you ask, and when he hacks off a couple inches from the trunk, he will ask you if it looks okay . . . you're taking your chances, 'sall I'm saying, basing your choice on something greenish, tree-ish, hog-tied and suffocating for God knows how long. But, for thirty bucks and sub-zero temps and gale-force winds literally on the horizon, it didn't seem like a bad deal. I'll just wait to decorate until the tree thawed out and revealed its full glory or deformities, I thought. I am not above cramming this tree back into my Jeep and returning it, should it thaw out into an evergreen nightmare. All about principle, right?

Long story even longer, the tree thawed out just fine—it's far taller than any tree I've had in the past, but it's full and lusciously gin-smelling (or is it gin that smells like pine?), and before I could schedule an exorcism, I had all my Rubbermaid tubs dragged out from the basement and was decorating like an elf goofed up on eggnog.

I was going to stick with a simple theme for my tree this year, thinking I'd keep the decorating and effort to a minimum. I'd only hang ornaments that were predominantly white and/or silver.  I did a pretty good job with that, except that some decorations that were not predominantly silver and/or white made me feel wistful or happy or sad or nostalgic, or whatever, and before I knew it, I was making all kinds of exceptions, for red, purple and blue . . . and gold, green and a bit of yellow, too . . . for the owls, and then for the hideous 70's ornaments Bob's mom gave him as a kid . . . do arbitrary if you must—grief, life, love is arbitrary—but allow room for arbitrary exceptions to those arbitrary rules. . . exceptions to the rules are always good. . . I love my tree, love this season, love to you all . . .

The ~~~~***¡MIRACLE!***~~~~ of Facebook!

Okay, so I was going to devote an entire entry on the fabulousness that is Chicago (I may still get to that—anything to keep me from studying, being it is my last week of class at Hamline), but then realized that, in the midst of all our running around, sight-seeing, oooh-ing and aaaahhhh-ing and eating and drinking and being merry, the very highlight of my weekend there was meeting a woman whom I'd only "met" on Facebook, never in person, another lifetime ago when Bob was so critically ill. Don't misinterpret that—Chicago is an awesome city, FULL of things for everyone and everyone, but the final few hours of our stay, before we caught our flight home, will resonate with me for a long time to come

I don't believe I ever wrote about this on Bob's blog, and who knows why not—perhaps it was too personal, perhaps there were too many other things that took precedence, perhaps it was too hard to try to explain, even to myself . . . but when Bob was in the throes of his illness, I recieved a facebook message from a woman I did not know:


3/29/10  10:54 pm
you

Jennifer, I don't know who you are, I don't know your Bob, or your relationship to him...(but through a facebook link from Jill Hildebrandt, who I also don't know worth shit, but know a friend of hers on facebook and liked the picture of her as a baby, crying, and then friended her)...but I gotta tell you something. I read your blog from Sunday. And, alas, I love you...not just a little. I love you dearly. Like you are my sister. I am sending you that love, big time. I want you to know that. And I want you to get it that its possible for some loon from chicago to love you like crazy, even though she only knows you a little bit from your writing, and you don't need to feel one iota of love back...but just know that you are loved...and accept the energy that that brings you. You are in my heart and in my mind and your words on that blogged changed me. love, mary

3/30/10  10:57 pm
Mary,
 Last night, I couldn't sleep and turned my cell phone on to call my husband (that's Bob) in ICU. At 2:30 a.m. Like I did the night before. Just to check on him. Even though I knew he wouldn't be able to speak to me. Then I thought, "Hey, crazy lady, quit it. He can't talk anyhow, and the nurses won't tell you anything you don't already know . . ." So instead, I flipped my phone over to Facebook, to try to escape with some mindless fb stalking . . . and found your note. And just had to say, it surprised the hell out of me, and made my day (night)! Made me laugh, made me just lie in the darkness, in wonder. That someone who doesn't know me or my husband, at all, cares that much. I felt your love, and continue to feel it.
That crybaby you've friended is my sister, Jill. She posted the link to our blog on fbook the other night, to reach out to friends and family that may not have known about Bob's situation . . .his story is a long one; had childhood cancer, was "cured," but now the fallout of the radiation he was exposed to way back in the 70's has come back to haunt him: heart attack 3 years ago; secondary cancer that was diagnosed just before Christmas '09, then another massive heart attack while doing an inpatient stint of chemo this past weekend . . . the blog has turned into my outlet, my therapy, a way to process all the shit that's been dumped on him, a way to try and shovel out from under all of it. . . poor guy, I've turned his situation into a real life Truman Show . . .
I could go on and on (I sure do in that blog), but I'll spare you, and just let you know that I was simply, deeply touched by your message. Thank you for that. Love back to you, Jen


Throughout the course of Bob's illness, I'd receive emails from this Mary person who knew neither my husband nor I, yet loved us like someone who had known us all our lives . . . we continued our facebook friendship after Bob died, sending little messages now and then to each other. She's a total dog person—how can you not love a total dog person?! Even one you haven't met?! And finally, this Thanksgiving, we had the opportunity to meet in person.

The second we spotted each other at Starbucks, we began screaming and crying, "It's you! It's you!!" and hugging for dear life (because we recognized each other from our facebook photo albums, of course). We then proceeded to spent the next two hours blabbing, interrupting each other, changing the subject, catching up on lost time, like old friends do (how do you catch up on lost time with someone you've never met? Not sure, but we gave it our damnedest, and pretty certain we succeeded). Even Gretchen, who didn't have the facebook connecting with Mary, seemed to be drawn into the energy of our meeting . . . 

I am still moved, beyond words, to know this beautiful person was so moved by Bob's story,  and to finally have the opportunity to meet her. "It was like the most tragic love story I've ever read," Mary had said of the Sofa King blog. . . She shared with us the story of her brother who had colon cancer, and died . . .  I can't begin to do justice to their story, so I'll just have to say, "wait for the book." It is that amazing of a story. . . I so wish I had thought to tale a pic of the three of us—Mary, Gretchen and me—but we were too busy blabbing, we hardly took time to breathe, much less take pictures. . . Mary was so generous and gracious to drive us to O'Hare and drop us off curb-side—I know, peeps, I know!!!! Killers reside on Facebook and Craigslist and other online venues! The RISK! The DANGER! The HORROR! Guess what? We lived to tell the tale. . . and guess what else? There are many good people in the world. Guess what else? We are blessed with brains and guts and hearts that exist to help us make it through this world. And guess what else? In the grand scheme of things, in spite of brains and guts and hearts, everything is still out of our control. Odd conundrum, isn't it. . .

I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook; quite frankly, I would not be on it, had Bob not fallen ill. It became my only means of connection to the "outside" world, when we were trapped in the insidious world of cancer for nineteen months. I stay on it (though I do take a hiatus every year or so, when I get truly disgusted with the mindlessness that seems to hijack the site), because, like it or not, it is a main method of communication for many (though the kids are making their own exodus from Facebook, have you heard? I haven't even heard of most of these social media outlets, much less check them out.....uggggg....some days, I forget to brush my teeth—how can I keep up with this Indy-500-paced techno-world??!!) 

I am still continually astounded at the lack of filters of some, the attention-seeking behaviors, the "road rage" mentality, and/or simple lack of judgment often displayed on facebook. . . but it is part of our modern world, like it or not. Like anything else, I have to separate the good from the bad. And meeting Mary in person was one damn good thing. Almost a miracle, if one believed in such things.