Perfect Pitch
I made the mistake over the festive period of buying the most beautiful Christmas tree I could find. I had shunned the fat ugly non shedding variety (probably achieved by being sent abroad to a sweatshop where all the needles are removed and stuck on again with super glue).
Proudly erecting this tree in the sitting room, I found that it was losing its delicate needles at an alarming rate. My carpet resembled the hide of an oversized hedgehog. Nevertheless I dressed my balding bark and awoke the seasons spirit in my humble home.
On the removal of the tree in early January I am left with 'embedded pine needle in carpet syndrome', where the only cure is to tap into the dexterity of any available obsessive stamp collectors with their magnifying glasses and tweezers. I will look one up in the Yellow Pages. My poor vacuum is not up to the job, having been already lacerated by a storm of 'surface pine needles'.
To add insult to injury my hands were left sticky with pine resin, for which the tree is forgiven as resin has an incredible amount of applications -
A notable use was for sealing ancient Greek amphorae, helping preserve wine on long sea voyages. This produced a taint in the wine and eventually led to the wine we know today as Retsina. The modern process just adds small amounts of Aleppo Pine resin during fermentation to achieve that 'pine fresh' taste.
Anything with pine whiffs I associate with household cleaning products (which use the resin for aroma). To the unanointed like myself, the idea of Retsina smacks of drinking neat bleach. Shades of that film 'Heathers'.
Pine resin is also responsible for pitch which was used to keep those Greek wooden sea vessels afloat. This is the origin of the word 'pitcher', derived from the long spouted pitch pourer. Not to be confused with baseball pitchers, who like a violinist use the gripping properties of rosin derived from turpentine for the perfect pitch.
A more practical application for my pine resin surplus would be to scrape it off my hands, hair and door knobs to distill it. Mix the resulting turpentine with a bit of left over turkey fat and rub it on my chest, not as a 'body rug' remover, but a vapour rub fending off seasonal colds. The only downside is that all wine would taste like Retsina.
Proudly erecting this tree in the sitting room, I found that it was losing its delicate needles at an alarming rate. My carpet resembled the hide of an oversized hedgehog. Nevertheless I dressed my balding bark and awoke the seasons spirit in my humble home.
On the removal of the tree in early January I am left with 'embedded pine needle in carpet syndrome', where the only cure is to tap into the dexterity of any available obsessive stamp collectors with their magnifying glasses and tweezers. I will look one up in the Yellow Pages. My poor vacuum is not up to the job, having been already lacerated by a storm of 'surface pine needles'.
To add insult to injury my hands were left sticky with pine resin, for which the tree is forgiven as resin has an incredible amount of applications -
A notable use was for sealing ancient Greek amphorae, helping preserve wine on long sea voyages. This produced a taint in the wine and eventually led to the wine we know today as Retsina. The modern process just adds small amounts of Aleppo Pine resin during fermentation to achieve that 'pine fresh' taste.
Anything with pine whiffs I associate with household cleaning products (which use the resin for aroma). To the unanointed like myself, the idea of Retsina smacks of drinking neat bleach. Shades of that film 'Heathers'.
Pine resin is also responsible for pitch which was used to keep those Greek wooden sea vessels afloat. This is the origin of the word 'pitcher', derived from the long spouted pitch pourer. Not to be confused with baseball pitchers, who like a violinist use the gripping properties of rosin derived from turpentine for the perfect pitch.
A more practical application for my pine resin surplus would be to scrape it off my hands, hair and door knobs to distill it. Mix the resulting turpentine with a bit of left over turkey fat and rub it on my chest, not as a 'body rug' remover, but a vapour rub fending off seasonal colds. The only downside is that all wine would taste like Retsina.
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