These are the white objects in the house the morning after a great party. Now I am sixty years old.
Whew. Holiday decorating nearly done.
First we retrieve the yule branch from the basement. It meets many of the criteria of our lives — minimalist, pretty cheap, “green,” a bit crafty.
It has a back story. In life, this magnolia branch started out as part of a Casey Trees planting (I should say the mighty Casey Trees!) in the triangle park on our street. Despite our attention and watering, it died. When the poor dead soul finally fell over and started to migrate into the street from natural forces, we picked it up, trimmed it a bit, and William went at it with white paint.
Then I find among our office supplies the Colorformesque sticky gel tree, and arrange its parts on the bathroom door.
All that’s left is filling the punch bowl.
Happy holidays. Find some good news somewhere around you.
I find myself within this family that I have joined and the stuff that comes with it: tsk-tsking about a family member who, alas, has become Christian, and what would the atheist parents say about that!; the family matriarch, a retired Ivy-educated professional woman, whose every waking hour is dutifully prepping or cooking the next meal for her adult partner and other family members; my in-laws who after 30 years of marriage – the second for each of them – openly show affection; a “walk” in the woods that includes shears and shippers to make the trail as they go.
What the hell am I doing here?