MacGyvers of the Heart

When I moved into an apartment with my sister, we inherited a 6-foot Christmas tree from a friend of mine. Its home in the off-season was in the closet, which had the same shag carpet as the rest of the place. Between the shedding and the shag, I would find plastic needles year-round, no matter how many times we vacuumed.

Over the years, pieces went missing. Not big ones, but the little parts that kept the branches in place. My current roommate developed a way to jerry-rig it, involving Q-Tips, bobby pins, and drinking straws. Hence our naming the tree MacGyver.

A couple of years ago, I got a lease on a garage and MacGyver got a new summer home. Because of the move, I found fewer and fewer needles in the carpet during the off-season.

When I moved out of that apartment earlier this summer, it was decided that MacGyver wasn't worth bringing along. I unceremoniously carried him to the dumpster in two trips.

I recently read some break up advice, and, well, I think most healing from break ups happens like what happened to my Christmas tree. At first, it's kept close by and leaves a bit of mess about. Then it's removed from the inside, and creates less mess when you bring it in, since you aren't dragging it all around the place (and you can transport it in one piece). 

Eventually, you move on and decide it won't be moving with you. Although you still remember it, you look forward to not finding fake pine needles unexpectedly in July.

MacGuyver