The Christmas tree my husband purchased in Detriot ten years ago has been dismembered. Its branches lie in bunches, segregated according to size. Tomorrow, I will drag out the large box, pack it away and send it off to the church, where I hear the youth pastor will appreciate having a seven and a half foot tall fake tree for the youth room. And I say, “Good riddance.” Good riddance to festivity, good riddance to the rumpled tree skirt the cats frolic underneath, good riddance to Christmas Past. I’m sick of it.
My daughter came in as I was yanking off the top branches of the tree and said, “Mom, what are you doing to the tree?” with dismay just like Cindy Lou Who when she caught the the Grinch stuffing the Christmas tree up the chimney. I said, “Christmas is over. We have to put all this away. If it were Christmas all the time, we’d never get to swim in the pool, you know.”
Indeed. If it were always Christmas, when would we celebrate the Fourth of July? If it were always Valentine’s Day, when would we go trick-or-treating? If it were always the beginning, when would we ever reach the end?
In other news, I ate a whole sleeve of Ritz crackers tonight. Don’t tell my other blog. Don’t even ask. I have no idea what came over me.