Another Christmas had come and gone, and my 50-year-old tree was ready for 50 more, thanks to an amazing repair job done by a friend. I only wished I could say the same for the angel that had sat up top. One by one I pulled the individual branches out of the trunk to pack away for next year, happy to do the work of disassembling. I tried to ignore the old tree-topper that no longer measured up.
Modern artificial trees folded up in a second, but my tree was the first of its kind. My father had brought it home the year I turned
