Tom’s family waited to buy their tree until the day before Christmas, because they were cheap. They bought fat, bush-like trees where ornaments hung on the outside of the tree like refrigerator magnets.
These were real trees, not synthetic trees. Real, dead trees. But they smelled like live trees for a few days and then they dropped needles all over the carpet, because everybody had carpet in the old days, post World War II old days, I mean.
I held on to real, dead trees until the year 2004 when we bought an elegant but small condo. That year I went synthetic. Then we moved to New York City for a couple of years where I bought real, dead trees again, because seeing trees on the sidewalk in New York was magical. There was no way I was not going to buy one of those trees.