Some decisions have to be made in split seconds, such as when you’re doing 35 mph and the traffic signal turns yellow.

Do you slam on the brakes, or pray you make it? No one choice fits every situation. There are times when braking is the answer, and others when doing that could cause an accident.

When it comes to selecting a Christmas tree, there’s no need for a quick decision, although that could be a wise maneuver.

There were years where we put off getting a tree until the week before Christmas. There was some logic to this. We didn’t want to hype the season, although the reality is that Carol and I are slow starters when it comes to Christmas.

We’ve paid the price for dawdling.

One year, we waited until only a few days before Christmas. The trees had been picked over, and while we went from lot to lot, we didn’t get that feeling “this is the right one.” Finally, we realized we wouldn’t find “the perfect tree,” and that completely changed our thinking. Instead, we chose “to adopt” a waif of a tree – there really wasn’t a choice – which we argued would have never otherwise found a home for Christmas.

The kids weren’t impressed by the adoption, and when I revealed what I’d paid for it, there were accusing looks that Dad was just too cheap. Still, I tried to make the best of it. The tree was scraggly and its only saving grace was a couple of bushy lower limbs. I got out the branch trimmer and the electric drill. With some cutting and a few well-placed holes in the trunk, I filled in some of the bald spots, and we had a reasonably good-looking Christmas tree. At least, I thought it was pretty good.

For a while we all embraced a live tree. The logic was compelling. We’d save a tree, which, of course, is impossible to prove while having the tree in our yard. The first of the live tree exercises involved sliding a tree up a pair of planks through the front door and then rolling it across the living room, leaving a trail of sand in its wake. The tree looked tiny in comparison to the gargantuan burlap-wrapped balled root system that we camouflaged with a red tablecloth. We all felt we were doing something to save the planet, so there weren’t any looks that “we’ll tolerate whatever Dad is up to this year.” But it wasn’t the answer either. By the time Christmas was over and the decorations boxed for another year, the ground was as hard as concrete. It took some doing to finally excavate a hole large enough for the tree, and then despite all our efforts, the needles fell off and we were left with a skeleton reminder of how to kill a Christmas tree.

A second live tree faired better, but after a couple of years and visions of it taking over a section of the yard, we cut it down one Christmas for its second and final indoor display.

My parents went through some of the same phases, only they took it a step further. They never broke down and bought an artificial tree, but they questioned why it had to be an evergreen and living. I recall the year my mother hung a branch inside the living room picture window. Decorations were draped from the leafless limb. It was artistic, and she argued the “real Christmas tree” was just outside in the garden. And it was. It was a perfectly shaped blue spruce that was richly decorated with multi-colored lights.

Still, there’s no substitute to an evergreen inside. There’s the aroma of pine, and that feeling that for at least a brief time you have a special visitor deserving of your attention who will carry forward the memories of Christmases past.

Such an important visitor can’t be selected randomly or on a moment’s notice, or so I believed.

Picking the right tree takes time, and as I said, having the right feeling.

So, I stopped at West Shore Garden Center Sunday afternoon. They were busy. There was a great selection of trees. But I didn’t hunt through the stand. I knew I had spotted the “perfect tree.” In five minutes, the trunk had a fresh cut to ensure it would draw water and she was on her way home.

There’s no reason to brake for Christmas. It’s all green this year.