This was the weekend to get a Christmas tree. Lanie and John like the larger trees. They borrowed the neighborís pick-up, so the van would not be a limiting factor. Since the tree farm prices are all the same for trees over ten feet, price is not a limiting factor either. Well, the owner said we really got a Christmas tree this year and helped us wrestle it into the truck. We wrestled it out of the truck and to the door too. It seemed larger than usual. Our tree stand was too small, by about an inch or two in diameter. Lanie had to search out a larger tree stand. She found one that would fit, but the label warned that trees should not exceed nine feet. Clearly this tree was larger. We forced the tree through the door. I had the base all the way across the room and into the dining room before John was in the door. "Oh, dear," Lanie said trying not to laugh. Fortunately, John is big and strong. He pushed it upright while I pushed the base back into the living room. It fit up between the blades on the ceiling fan and not at all near the lower part of the ceiling where we wanted it. To solve these problems we slowly maneuvered it over by the upstairs loft, where I could cut off the top branch, dangle on an upper story of lights and crown it with the angel. Carefully, we slid this marginally stable symbol of Christmas cheer to the desired location. The angel did battle with the ceiling fan. But finally we could stand back and admire the tree. John and I burst into laughter. The angel was straddling a tree branch, looking like a viagra victim. "Gabriel," I asked? The dog and cat best stay far, far away.