On Saturday, he and Gregg proceeded to put up lights around our house and on the Christmas tree.
There is a little story behind this huge, wide tree.
We have a cherished tradition of going to a local tree farm to cut Christmas trees with our friends, the Brogans. You may recall that we met Dr. Tom when Katie was under his care in the ICU at Seattle Children's Hospital in 2006. Tom's family-centered care made a huge difference in all of our lives, and our relationship grew beyond the walls of the hospital, beyond the duration of Katie's illness. We are family friends, now. The Brogans have been coming with us to the tree farm to choose and cut our trees for several years; we make our way all around the farm, chatting, sometimes throwing a football or jumping over canals, and we have a meal together afterward.
We missed this tradition last year due to travel, so it was lovely to pick it up again this year, the weekend after Thanksgiving. David asked us not to cut the tree at that time, but simply to mark it and return to cut it later, so that it would stay fresh through all of the holidays. We agreed, and used the tree farm's system of tagging the tree and writing the location in their ledger.
When we returned to cut the tree about a week ago, we could not find it. We saw freshly cut stumps around the area we had been looking, and guessed that our tag had blown off in the wind, or that someone else might have taken a liking to our tree...so after looking for it for some time, Gregg and I decided to pick the next best tree we could find, and go with that.
It was cut, baled, and we were in the process of tying it to the top of our car, when I looked over my right shoulder and saw some familiar handwriting on a tag...my handwriting. Yes, there was our original tree, standing tall, waiting for us, in a different section of the farm than we remembered! I casually walked over and removed the tag. I felt sheepish for a couple of days, but the tree we have is lovely.