I spent over 2 hours yesterday searching for the perfect tree. Perfect is an understatement these days as real trees appear to be a dying tradition (the fake artificial kind seems to be infiltrating the homes of those sworn to nothing but realism). My dilemma isn’t the straightest, the most full, or the lushest looking tree, but perhaps, is the quest for the tallest; I look for a tree that is at least 9 to 12 feet. My living room ceiling is a cathedral ceiling and the kids love a tree that stretches itself up to the ceiling. Usually, if luck has it, and I find one reasonably priced enough, we will find a tall one, and put it in a corner, as we only have enough decorations for half of a 10 foot tree. This doesn’t bother anyone. The bigger the better. In the past we’ve struggled to find one tall enough and this year wasn’t any different; 9-12 foot trees are slim pickings. This year, two hours after starting (which in a city renowned for its 20 minutes from one place to the next driving time, is extreme) a 10 foot tree was finally found. Now it’s up, decorated, and stands in front of the picture window and the street, letting the people that pass by gape with envy, (or at least we pretend it’s so) and honestly, no matter what people think about dead needles, the extra hassle, or even the dried out state of the trees, 10 feet of real Scotch Pine, standing slightly off-kilter, is perfect.