The pink Christmas tree

When I was a child, I had neighbors who, childless, adopted me as their own. I called them Auntie E. and Uncle Jack, and they probably provided most of the clothes I wore as a child. They spoiled me rotten, took me to the country club where, one night when I ordered fish, she, a devout Catholic, said, "You don't have to eat fish, dear. It's not Friday." They also took me to a fancy dinner club at the Chicago stockyards, where I remember branding my own steak. I was as much at home in their house as my own, and I adored them. In the dark streets of Chicago, Uncle Jack never allowed me to go two doors from their house to mine--he escorted me.
Auntie E. had a Twelfth Night custom that I've never heard of before or since--she would light a fire, and each of us in turn would throw in a small piece of the Christmas tree, making a silent wish as we did so. I thought it was charming, and I've carried on the custom with my children, though these days it's down to Jordan, Christian and me.
But I haven't had a tree in years. I used to cruise the streets, find one that had been set out, and furtively clip some branches. But each year more and more people go to artificial trees. I called Jordan tonight and asked if she had any live greens. She said, "Nope. That's your problem. It has been for 32 years (all of her life)." I told her this morning as I drove by a new house that stands out like a sore thumb in our neighborhood of charming old houses, I saw they had put out a pink Christmas tree. "I refuse," I said, "to clip a pink Christmas tree." Her reply was, "You may have to." I guess tomorrow I'll take clippers and drive the streets, looking for a green tree--or maybe a flocked white one would be okay. Pink is definitely out! Funny how those traditions get ingrained--if I don't have three small twigs, I'll feel really bereft. Then again, maybe it's silly to think of making a selfish wish on a night meant to comemmorate the arrival of the three wise men with their gifts for the Baby Jesus. The secular and the sacred.