A song by John Prine reminded me of,

A "Christmas In Prison"

by Norm Richards

I guess it was Christmas 1996, when I was home with my wife just before Christmas. Things were a bit off for me and I didn't know why. I was near broke, little cash and holding it together. It was time to get a tree for the living room. We usually bought a nice tree every year because we loved, I love the smell of a fresh pine tree in the living room at Christmas. On this past weekend, I watched John Prine on Austin City Limits played on PBS over YouTube. Such a good picture and sound. I watched him again this evening on The Strombo Show recorded in December 2018. He's in hospital right now struck by the coronavirus and everyone is praying for his recovery. I learned an hour ago, he's stable.

Anyway, his song hit me like a spark. I suddenly thought about that Christmas. The relationship between my wife and I was fading. But I had no firm answer. I was torn from one possibility or another. Each action I took was desperate. I was trying to write an original screenplay at home. She went out to work each day commuting to a small town near the city. We were both pressed economically. The investment in my company had run short. Conventional financing was gone. Things depended on me finding a new program buyer and I travelled a lot. I needed manna from heaven.

By this time, my mother's care was demanding more of my time. She lived in a seniors home across town and I brought her food near daily. We sat and watched Dwight Yoakam together. She loved to watch him twist on stage the way he does. He reminded her of Elvis. She had good home care workers who prepared meals for her each day and made sure she was good. I was pleased about that. Our friends had left the city for jobs that took them away permanently. We enjoyed time spent together on holidays. Our friendships with them were genuine. Once they were gone, there was a hole in our lives. We never filled the void. It was a contributor toward us sliding away from each other.

That Christmas of 1996, was not comfortable. Her co-worker, a maintenance man who worked under her came around and offered us a free Christmas tree. I was surprised. She said it was okay and he left it on our front yard. Later, when I took it in, it was dark and didn't resemble the trees I usually picked out. Nevertheless, I took the tree in and set it up. Even after giving it some colour with our decorations, it sat there looming over us smelling bad. I felt intruded on. I shuddered from the bad vibe I felt from that tree. My wife felt pretentious to me. There was something wrong. I couldn't put a finger on it. We exchanged gifts but love was an obligation not genuine. In spring 1997, I joined the emergency broadcast team to cover the rising Red River flood waters. Away from home for fourteen hours a day at the studio was a needed distraction. By the summer of 1997, I had answers. She was in an affair with the maintenance guy. My career soon improved but my relationship didn't survive.