My Christmas tree has a remote control.
The tree we’ve used for years finally gave up the ghost (Ebenezer Scrooge pun intended) forcing me to head out and find a new one. When I shopped last year, I went too late and all the good trees had sold out. This year I shopped early and bought my tree on sale at Home Depot and one of the twins convinced mom to put it up a few days early.
Things sure have changed from the old Charlie Brown Christmas tree days. This particular tree solved a major problem in our house: Mom likes white lights, the rest of the family multi colored lights. The one I chose, thanks to LED technology, shifts from one to the other. From the picture above to this.
Or for you Kentucky fans, to this.
And even for you dirty bird Card fans (though I prefer to think of this as Cincinnati Red red).
Oh, and it will transition from one color to the next. It does twinkling, strobe, fade in and out and with a push of the remote, it will start your car, fix your breakfast and respond to all the tweets you get from people trying to sell you ten-thousand followers.
OK. Part of that I made up.
But my tree has a remote. How lazy have we become. In the old days of artificial trees you had to climb back into the corner and unplug them. Then they came out with foot switches. Now I can turn off the darn thing with a push of the button from my recliner.
If you want a ten foot tree and are even more lazy than I am, you can buy a tree that will go from seven feet tall to ten feet tall with the push of a button. No big ladder to do your decorations. It’s almost like the Grinch, you can fix it there and raise it up here.
Coming home from the UK game last night, I was stopped at a light and a huge, majestic pine tree graced the open area in front of Rupp Arena, viewable out my car window. For decades, this tree grew somewhere peacefully, only to be cut down in the prime of life to become part of our Christmas decorations. It made me kind of sad.
Don’t get me wrong, I know we use trees in all kinds of products, from the paper we write on, to the paper towels in my kitchen, to the frame of my house. But with this new remote control marvel in my living room, the fact an old timer has to give up their solitary existence only for us to hang ornaments and lights on them struck me odd. Perhaps I’m only superimposing my own upcoming mortality on the tree. Who knows. Maybe I need another Fireball Whiskey.
My Christmas tree has a remote.
And I don’t know if I should cheer or wonder what’s next: one that will decorate itself?