My grandfather was a quietly dignified old man whose favorite pastime was sitting on his front porch smoking his pipe, nodding at folks who would pass by on the sidewalk. He was fond of a cold Falls City beer, but he was careful not to let any of the Grandkids see him drinking one. I remember surprising him in the kitchen, watching him walk into the parlor and fumble aimlessly with the clock on the wall, as I glanced into the sink to see a just-opened Falls City hidden there. He had been a railroad man on the L&N, and he was scrupulous about time, always fiddling with clocks or adjusting the stop watch he kept on a chain in his pocket.

One Christmas time, we came to visit, and there in the parlor was the thinnest, shortest Christmas tree I have ever seen, sitting on a table in the parlor. Grampaw had bought it at a bargain price at the lot, and my cousin Cindy had attempted to decorate it. Several ornaments hung from the branches. Rather, the weight of them pulled the skimpy branches down to the table-top, where they rested. She had used tinsel in a vain attempt to simulate fullness, but her efforts had only made the tree seem more sad and vulnerable. It was a sort of relief when the tree survived the season, and the parlor table was empty again.

But Grampaw didn't see any reason to throw away a tree which was already decorated, and so he put it on a shelf in the corner of the shed. From this dark corner it would re-emerge each Christmas season, and after having the cobwebs and dust knocked off it, would once again adorn the parlor table. To the touch, it had a quality of rigid endurance only seen in Egyptian mummies, and in truth it represented little fire hazard, because after several years it attained a substance akin to petrified wood. We grandkids had endless fun kidding him about it, while he continued to ignore our good-natured taunts, and the resurrection of the tree became an integral part of our Christmas ritual.

The old man caught the flu in 1970. It progressed quickly, as it often does in the elderly, and he was at last taken to the hospital. On the brink of dying, one morning he arose before first light and put on his clothes. He made it to the front door before he was apprehended and returned to his room. My Mom said he wanted to die at home, but I have always suspected he was thinking of one last cold Falls City.