Winter made a dramatic gesture by sending us the coldest day and night so far this season. I almost said this year then I remembered how young the year is. It was 12˚ last night, a perfect night to stay inside, cozy and warm. Poor Gracie got sent out before bed, but she was out for only a minute or two. I think it was squat and run.
My tree is standing in the living room covered by a white plastic bag. It is ready to be taken outside and brought to the dump. I took off all the ornaments and the lights yesterday. I hated doing it, but it was time. To accomplish that task I had to bring up the bins from the cellar, fill them then slide the heavy bins down the stairs and pile them until next year. My back bears witness to all the work I did yesterday so today is a nothing day. The tree can sit until tomorrow. Gracie and I also did errands yesterday, and I carried in the bags of bird seed and cans of dog food. I figured I’d already done in my back so what the heck. I did leave the 20 pounds of cat litter in the trunk, but I’m going to need that tomorrow to change the boxes. I have designated tomorrow dump day and the old litter has to go.
My scrub pine, the ugly fake tree, is still in the dining room where it will be lit every night until twelfth night. I have also left some decorations around the house to keep it a bit festive. There is no rush to return to drab.
I’ve finished Mr. Penumbra and moved on to Merry Christmas, Alex Cross. Nothing better than hostages and terrorists at Christmas. The book is short and won’t take long to finish. I think James Patterson has caught Mary Higgins Clark’s disease of hiding a short story under the guise of a novel.
It’s a wonderful world when I can plan my day around the couch and a book. I have the whole day to do what I want. How lucky I am!
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