A Christmas Chainsaw Story

Does this look like a good idea?  I’m thinkin’ no.  I call my husband my woodsman.   His philosophy is, any problem can be solved with duct tape, a martini, or a chainsaw.


We spent the first week of December in Mexico so the minute we were back home I launched into Christmas mode, full force.  I thought we’d take a trip down to the Christmas tree lot to pick out a perfect little tree so I could get to the business of untangling the lights (how do they tangle themselves up every year?), and opening the boxes of ornaments and festive bling.  Soon after I made the suggestion, Len was outside rounding up the tallest ladder he could find and mixing some atomic cocktail that he feeds into the chainsaw.  This cocktail is necessary to make the chainsaw come roaring to life and blow dirty blue smoke out the pack end.  He leaned the tall ladder against one of our pine trees, climbed way up (FAR too up) and yanked on the pesky pull cord about 100 times, sprinkling the thing with some swearage, then the thing came to life with a racket.  At the top of the ladder he started swinging the chainsaw around every which way.  My job was to worry that the only limbs that came flying off were from the tree.  And worry, I did!  Suddenly, TIMBERRRR, the top of the tree came tumbling down.   And there was my Christmas tree.  The thing was huge and heavy but we managed to drag it over to the side of the house, stuck it in a pail which we lined with rocks to keep it from being all tippy, then yanked it into the house and gave it some water.

Christmas tree

 Now that it’s all dressed and done and no one is bleeding, it doesn’t look half bad!

Merry Christmas, y’all!

I used to believe in Santa Claus until my mother took me to see him in a department store and he asked for my autograph.  — Shirley Temple


  1. Dave McCurdy says:

    Only Len!!

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