It all started because of the kayaks. Putting the kayaks away means clearing space in the basement, which means moving stuff around, which means I might as well bring up the Christmas stuff. Right?
Stage 1 involves putting the tree together. It seems to be falling apart a little bit, and my son and I try to fix it, only I'm not so sure if we did or if we broke it further. That's okay. Maybe next season I'll get a new one ... with lights already on it.
This one thought blossoms more when I fight with the strings of lights on the tree. I have one of the long strings on the tree when half of the string goes dead. I move a little, and the string comes back to life. Then it half-dies again. I figure it's probably shorting out and probably shouldn't go on the tree, so I throw the lights out and try again. Twenty minutes later, the tree is lit.
I'm alone to decorate the tree this year. Youngest is upstairs watching the Patriots game away from me and my foul mouth commentary on the state of football, so I carefully put the ornaments on the branches as anti-Giants therapy. I stop to do a few more chores around the house (putting away the leftover beef stew and folding laundry) before adding the random lengths of garland.
I'm not a decorator. My tree never looks classy like the ones in the store. As a matter of fact, it pretty much looks the same year after year after year. It's up, though. I haven't finished the rest of the decorating. I haven't even found the tree skirt yet, but I will. I always do. Okay, except for that one year when I almost didn't.
Merry almost-Christmas-way-before-Thanksgiving. Now, a quest to find Advent candles...
