Christmas Tree Roots

"These trees are not ecological…"

The half Puerto Rican - half Russian girl-waiter (who knows how to party and tote like a socialist...) said last week at a holiday coat check.

I looked at the trees - grouped like they grew. They were simple Douglas Fir - lit up with only white sparkly lights. It matched the rustic and refined old Julia Morgan Ballroom venue. The whole place was decorated with candles and mistletoe: sparse but bright - sort of a "Shaker Chic" for the holidays with crackling fires you might roast a pig in.

I was coat check for the evening. These were practical, simple folk and they were partying at the annual employee Christmas party; I could tell by the array of useful wool coats; practical and double lined with the occasional poly fur. I ran my fingers across the course cornucopia of color; it was the culmination of a billion years of clothing our naked animal selves.

Back to the tree, as I answered,

"Hey, this tree did it's part. It breathed in our trash CO2 for at least eight feet of time. It is pretty fresh… so I think they are still breathing for us, now. Can you really say a tree is not ecological? It IS dying but that's pretty natural"

She looked at me with her twenty-something sense of immortality, a little taken aback that I expected her to think about it.

She smiled – what can best be described as a “knowing-better but doing-it-anyway-because-it-feels-right’ smile… a little sad but lit up anyway - like the tree.

“What’s your name?” We got acquainted.

I should have known. Anyone that was half-Russian would not be stumped by a little death reference. Russians metastasize the idea of death into a love of life, early; yes, of course, vodka and poetry too. (I hang with a lot of red, white and Jewish Russians…)

“You’re right; this tree has invisible roots.” She had a dreamy look in her eyes. “You have to know about death to see them”

Invisible roots. Cool.

I knew what she meant. The Buddists talk about life as 10,000 joys and 10,000 sorrows. Personally, I choose joy and I am sustained by love I have never seen with my eyes: Faith. Family. Friends. Roots. Longings. I answered her:

“One person’s trash is another’s symbol of eternal life… They did their part for making the world a better place, now they are a higher symbol…now they have invisible roots into my personal chicken soup.”

I decorate only the part that I can reach and it is enough.

Merry Christmas, all.