Two Trains Jumped the Tracks Near a Christmas Tree

By Al Batt

There was no haystack to be found in those needles.

I vowed not to get my tinsel in a tangle.

Four of us put up a Christmas tree. Yes, it took that many. It was a small tree made heavy with angels. The angels flew onto the boughs. A couple of trains sat on tracks beneath the tree. The trains weren’t full-sized because the tree was small, but they caused me to sing the song, “I’ve been working on the railroad. All the livelong day.”

The trains took up space under the tree meant for presents, but an air guitar, gift cards and socks need little room. You get socks in lieu of everything you’ve ever wanted, and you should never look a gift card in the mouth.

We’d just finished a Thanksgiving meal, so I suggested we hang the Christmas stockings and stuff them with stuffing, but there was no second to my motion.

We accomplished the Christmas tree duties with no need for a single nap. I take that back. We might have needed naps, but we didn’t take any.

A friendly fellow told me he had persistent memories of a  Christmas tree from his youth. That was because his family had the same tree every year. It was an artificial one of the aluminum variety.

My family changed trees. The Christmas tree decorations of my boyhood hung out together once a year after a family member said, “We should get a tree to go with all these ornaments.”

Mom had a mismatched collection of ornaments. Each came with a backstory that matched the ornament perfectly – where it came from and who had given it. We lost ornaments. A yellow house cat toppled the tree every year. He had a bone to pick with Christmas trees. The sound of a tree hitting the floor triggered our dog’s alarm system. It barked not quite loud enough to wake the dead, but loud enough to make a tombstone shiver. The canine had never been a big fan of the feline and enjoyed tattling on him.

We obtained our trees from a pine broker who sold the trees by the needle. There used to be Christmas tree lots everywhere. Now there isn’t.

We drove a hard bargain, buying low-cost trees – only seeds would have been cheaper – which meant our Christmas trees always had that lived-in look – and termites. Either the angel at its top or the entire Christmas tree leaned. We turned the tree’s bad side to the wall. Even the perfect things were imperfect.

It had taken me weeks to tangle the Christmas lights properly before I’d put them away. The lights were in a giant ball. I plugged them in without bothering to untangle them. The colors were so brilliant they’d have made Matisse weep.

One ornament was kept in a special box. I’m sure it had a touching story connected to it. I hooked it to the tree, and it fell off. It broke. I wanted to blame the cat, but it was my shoddy workmanship that was at fault. I felt terrible and confessed my negligence to my mother. She said it was just a thing and added, “I think we can have Christmas without it.”

The train tracks didn’t snap together as easily as I’d hoped, so the current tree and its ensemble weren’t perfect. A quilter shared a concept called “humility blocks” with me. Humility blocks presents the idea of intentionally adding a mistake to a quilt to signify that only God is perfect. While the practice lacks historical documentation and could be a myth as many quilters have said honest mistakes happen, the concept endures. Similar beliefs appear in other traditions, such as the “spirit bead” in Native American beadwork and the flaw in Persian rugs. Folklore says Amish crafters purposely add a mistake to their crafts. That might be nothing more than horsefeathers. The Amish emphasize quality and I’m sure the others do, too.

I expect some artists purposely include a flaw in their creations after becoming aware of this notion.

It might not be an authentic concept, but it’s a perfect excuse. That’s the reason the tracks below the Christmas tree don’t fit together perfectly.

They’re my humility blocks.