Well if you’re going to have a Christmas Tree, even if it’s pink one, a chick tree, a stupid looking one for a guy, bought out of fear for your life, you still need an angel on top of the danged thing. I figured that out by myself, probably because my mother taught me that a long time ago, or something equally as inconceivable, so I went back to the craft store in search of my angel.
 
I tentatively entered the emporium of all things artsy and headed for the aisle of ornaments, which was easily identifiable by all of the single guys who were wandering around with dazed and confused looks on their faces.
 
I needed an angel, but it looked as though they were in scarce supply. I scoured the aisles and there was nary an angel to be found. It was very traumatic, but I endured and at long last I found a doll which kind of resembled an angel.
 
She had on a red dress with a lacy white apron kind of thing and a pair of candy cane stripes stockings. Not only that, but she had some wings on her back, so I figured she must be an angel and that the candy cane striped stockings had to have been a sign that this was indeed the angel manufactured for the top of my tree. So I reached down and grabbed the one on the top of the short pile and wended my way back over to the checkout line.
 
Once I safely returned to Stalag 9 I reached into the bag and prepared to place my angel atop her appointed tree.
 
As I mentioned in earlier columns, I believe in signs. As I placed her atop the pink tree I was horrified!
 
My little angel was missing one of her arms!
 
I had an amputee angel!!
 
My heart fell. And then my phone rang. Another sign?
 
It was Long Tall Sally and she wanted to know if I had gotten an angel for my tree. I sadly told her about my amputee one and she told me to take it back to the store and they would replace her with a complete angel.
 
I stood there for a moment, phone in one hand, Kleenex in the other and I looked at my pink Christmas Tree.
 
As I stood there looking at it, I felt my heart grow soft. My angel was flawed. The tree was flawed and ugly and sparsely decorated.
 
It was a perfect fit! There was for a fleeting moment in time, complete balance in my life.
 
I looked at my angel again and even though she had but a single arm, she looked beautiful perching atop my stupid chick tree.
 
“Nope” I said to Long Tall Sally, “She’s perfect, in an imperfect way. I’m gonna keep this one. She needs a tree and I have one for her. They were made for each other. Every angel needs a home just like people do, and that home shouldn’t be in a returned items bin in the back of a store. The angel stays.”
 
For the first time in years I felt it. The Christmas spirit which had evaporated returned to my heart.
 
A gift from an ugly tree, Elvis and an amputee angel with what looked like a shimmering pole stuck up her butt.
 
A tear rolled down my cheek as I said goodbye to Long Tall Sally. A tear of joy and peace and all things Christmas, … kind of like Long Tall Sally.
 
(To be continued)