I have to be honest. I've done something I never thought I would do.

I'm faking it. As in Christmas tree.

Without specifying my age, but realizing it's obvious I've been around as long as Mickey Mouse, I would have bet major money (or at the very least a dinner) I would never succumb to a fake tree.

Never!

Well, scratch that bet. With memories still vivid of me hauling a huge, live 7-footer into my living room via the front door, and out again weeks later -- year after year -- I decided all the huffing and puffing and backache weren't worth it.

When you live alone and there is nobody even to hold the door open as you struggle with this green and often prickly holiday tradition, or someone to help disconnect it from the rope tying it to the lid of your car's trunk, you begin to think about faking it.

I have thought about it for at least 10 years, which is when I began to pay big bucks. I paid $60 for a tree I once purchased for $4.50. Same size, same make (Fraser fir after years of balsams), and I resented the price tag. Still, I kept paying it.

Christmas was not the time to be resentful or hurtful or to complain. It's a joyous time of year, and thoughts should proceed accordingly.

My thoughts were beginning to be Scrooge-like regarding the tree.

I had bought trees from Boy Scouts, St. Bede and the Western Pennsylvania School for the Blind through the years, as well as at my favorite nursery.

It seems the needles fell no matter what price I paid, but I considered it part of the holiday. I liked knowing my dollars were also supporting a cause, but then it became a chore: the selecting, the lugging, the misery of having a light-colored carpet with a pattern of pine needles .

I've been stepping on undetected pine needles entrenched in my carpet in my current house for 26 years. I favor being barefoot, or I used to.

No, the tree bags meant to do away with making a mess as the tree is dismantled aren't all that helpful when your tree is huge and bushy.

I'm sad. I miss the smell of pine. I don't miss having to tie the tree to the handle of a bookcase door, just to make sure it doesn't topple over. I've had my fair share of topples, including Christmas morning.

I had a cocker spaniel who thought the tree was his tree. I had to put a garden fence around the trunk. And yet, I did it year after year. It was part of having the real thing, this attraction by my pet with the nasty habit.

Moreover my old tree holder had sprung a leak two years ago, and the stain, all colors of the rainbow, remains on the carpet to remind me of the old days. I'm sure I am not the only diehard real Christmas tree advocate who has flip-flopped. All the pluses to the argument for real vs. fake remain: certainly the aroma, the family outing to select a tree, the fun of cutting your own tree, and naturally, the fact that your entire family was here when you were 5, then 10, then 15 and a live tree prevailed.

Of course, fake trees weren't in abundance years ago. Much like fake and silk flowers, fake pine trees have become almost perfect replicas of the real thing.

I did the faking last year for the first time. My holiday guests didn't notice. They even leaned in to sniff it, but didn't mention it if they realized there was nothing to sniff.

Cinnamon-spice aroma from the kitchen was my ally, a substitute for pine.

This year I liked the fact that my tree, in three sections, was sitting in the basement just waiting for me to bring it upstairs. It didn't matter if it was snowing or raining or just plain bitter cold. I didn't have to wear gloves or saw off bumps on the trunk.

Fake doesn't mean you don't fuss once the tree is balanced and in place. The three sections seemed heavier this year as I climbed the basement steps. Could that be age?

Securing them one on top of the other took some maneuvering. And a few bad words under my breath.

Pulling down the branches, which have been folded for a year, takes time.

Each time I walked past the tree before decorating I squinted to see if the shape was just right, or should it be moved to the left or the right -- or maybe even moved to another spot in the living room.

I tried the latter. Big mistake. The top section fell off and I had to remind myself once again of the joy of the season.

Now I just ignore the tree, real or fake. I concentrate on what is on the limbs of the tree, ornaments from my childhood and from my son's childhood. Decorating this tree is the best part.

Joy abounds. It's real, never fake.