Rainy and chilly this morning, but that will be changing in the next couple of days to warm and sunny. I almost can’t wait. The sun has been missing for so many days the world almost seems post-apocalyptic. Exaggeration you’re thinking? Not so says I who has seen so many science fiction movies. I know post-apocalyptic!!

Two spawns of Satan were at the feeders this morning as were two birds I haven’t seen dining on the deck before. I looked them up, and they were white-throated sparrows. Nuthatches and woodpeckers have been by every day, but I haven’t seen my chickadees, the usual stalwarts. The new suet feeder has been seeing quite a bit of action as has the older one I rehung. The birds seem to like where it is now.

The errand on tap today is fun. I need wreaths as the outside lights go up tomorrow. I’ll be happy, even in the rain, to wander through the garden center filled with the scent of Christmas.

When I was young, I don’t ever remember caring what the tree looked like before it was decorated. It was always a wonder. My father would bring it in and set it up in the corner where the TV console usually sat. He’d get on his stomach and slide under the lowest branches to tighten the screws on the tree stand into the trunk. My mother usually held the tree as straight as she could while my father tightened. I remember the fully decorated tree falling down a few times. Once my brother and I were home alone when it fell. I held it up while he tried to fix it firmly into the stand. My father took to using wire or string attached to the tree trunk then to the wooden part of the windows so the tree would have extra support.

It was always agony waiting for a couple of days for the tree branches to fall in a good way, to spread out after being enclosed for travel. Once they did, we could decorate. We all had traditional jobs. My father was in charge of the lights, the old kind of lights where one bulb knocked out the whole set. He has his system for testing to find the culprit. Once the lights were on, my mother strung the tinsel in loops around the tree. She has a vision as to how it should look. Then it was our turn. We got to put the ornaments on, except for the really big beautiful ones my mother always hung on the top branches away from us. My sisters were young and shorter so they did the lower branches. We always oohed and ahhed over the ornaments as if we’d never seen them before. Last were the icicles (though for some they’re called tinsel). We’d hang them one at a time off branches then we’d throw them in piles on the tree out of boredom.  My mother usually finished the tree. She’d remove those gobs of icicles we’d thrown and individually hang each one. She took her time, and the tree was always beautiful.