When I retire I want to be a wreath-fluffer, like the two older ladies who helped decorate our church for the holidays by sitting in the pews fluffing up the foliage of artificial wreaths that had been flattened during storage since last Christmas. A flurry of activity swirled around them as church members young and old carried ladders, unpacked ceramic nativity scene figures, hung garland and lights, and decorated trees, but in the still center of all the activity the wreath-fluffers sat chatting quietly as they unbent twisted limbs and made the wreaths look almost natural.
But of course I'd be a lousy wreath-fluffer. Just getting close to any artificial foliage that's been in storage makes my nose run, my eyes water, and my head explode with sneezes, and nobody wants snot all over their festive wreaths. Putting up our artificial Christmas tree each year guarantees a day of nasal misery; there's no good way to keep dust off an artificial tree, and all that moving and shaking releases the dust into the air where it can irritate my nasal passages and make me sneeze--until the dust settles.
Real trees are worse, though. I much prefer a real Christmas tree, but I just can't cohabit with them because they set off an allergy attack that lasts throughout the whole season, sometimes progressing to an upper respiratory infection. Give me 24 hours of dust-induced sneezing rather than three weeks of congestion, coughing, and eventual fever.
And so we stick with artificial foliage, which needs to be fluffed no matter how carefully it's been stored. I relish the image of the old ladies fluffing wreaths and chatting softly while the holiday bustle swirls around them; I look for that still, quiet center of peace in the middle of holiday chaos, and I just hope I don't have to wait until retirement to find it.
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