40 Year Old Christmas Tree

I finally did it. I took my Christmas tree down to the curb.

Now, this is a major accomplishment. I convinced myself (rather easily) that keeping my Christmas tree up past Christmas was whimsical as well as practical. I mean, it still smelled good…why shouldn’t I enjoy it past December 25? But it became more and more difficult to convince myself that keeping the tree up past January 25 was more whimsical than pathetic and downright lazy. So, on January 23, in the dead of night (so my fellow apartment dwellers wouldn’t see), I unscrewed my tree from its stand, awkwardly wrapped it up in an old bed sheet and winded and wielded my way down the hall, down the elevator, through the lobby, across the parking structure, then out to the curb.

Despite my efforts, those dry needles were everywhere. They provided a trail (better than breadcrumbs) of my midnight antics...right to my front door. I used the sheet in the lobby to “sweep” out as many needles as possible; however, I couldn’t run my vacuum at midnight. That would get my neighbors even more upset. Unfortunately, I had to leave home early the next day and was busy all day, so proof of my laziness languished there, mocking me of my laziness for at least 24-hours. Finally, on the following day I hauled out my vacuum and vacuumed the hallway and waiting area in front of the elevators as best as I could. I had to call the elevator three times in order to get the one I had used that night to come to my floor (we have two elevators in my building), so I could take a couple swipes inside with my vacuum.

If one cared to look carefully, one would find needles here and there. A prickly cluster in the corner of my kitchen, a bent one in my front doorjamb, and along the building hallway some crispy brown needles stick out irreverently where the wall meets the carpet. A reminder of my strength of procrastination…er, whimsy.

Well, the New Year is well underway and I feel like time is beginning to fly. I mean, seriously, can it be February already? While the days and weeks seem to inch along, why is it when I look at the calendar, I am so surprised to see the month of January is already gone? Perhaps one reason is because I turn 40 this year. Yikes. It’s such a mile-stone type of year. Forty is supposed to mean stability and accomplishment and strength in sense of self. Well, at least that’s what Oprah said. Or was it Hallmark? I forget. In any case, there is meaning in attaining your 40th year.

When did I start to get old? Last week, someone wanted to pass me on the sidewalk and he said, “excuse me, ma’am.” Ugh. In the last few years I have noticed that the number of salespeople and wait staff have been calling me “ma’am” have steadily increased. I have caught myself using terms such as, “…kids nowadays…” and “back in the day…” My oh my. I am thinking old as well as getting physically older. Bleh.

This is difficult to wrap my mind around, because I have always been the youngest. I am the youngest sibling in my family, by far (the next sibling is 11 years older). When I would hang out with them or their friends, I was always the youngest. I am born in October, so even amongst my schoolmates; I was one of the younger ones. One of the last to get my driver’s license or go to a “real” bar. Even in work, (except for my previous job) I have always been one of the younger staff. Currently, I am the youngest in my office of 5 people).

It is even worse to think of it as mid-life. For some reason, “forty” sounds better than “mid-life,” probably because mid-life intimates that you are in the second half of your life. The sun is no longer rising in your life; it is setting.

Age may just be a number, but numbers do hold some significance. I do not like to think of myself as almost 40, because “almost 40” sounds old. I do not think of myself as old. If anything, I very much have a child-like spirit. My inner child gets free reign, probably too much of the time. I guess I face 40 with some trepidation because of social convention. I will act as I normally do and people will say, “oh my gosh, isn’t she 40?” which would be fine if they said it in an admiring, amazed way rather than in a scandalized, she’s-old-enough-to-know-better kind of way. Oh well, I guess time shall tell…