Thursday, July 10, 2008

house: a (tiny) memoir

The snow we would trudge from the truck or the tractor to back of the two hundred acres, over creek into brush for the sake of a Christmas tree, until the mid-1980s relented, and responded with fake plastic replica. Every year, the operation of cutting and tugging, pine needles spread out through the kitchen and living room carpet and caught up in socks, decorating tree with glass baubles at least one less a year with the television on, watching Barney Miller or Fish, Charlie Brown and inevitable Grinch.

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