We won’t have a tree this year, if I have any say in the matter. It’s stored in Husband’s workshop below the main living level of the house, that has no direct entrance to the shop from the main part of the house. The bagged tree is probably on a high shelf. Husband hasn’t been well — vertigo, so getting up on a ladder is out of the question for him. I’m not too fond of it either. There are the four or five boxes of decorations to deal with, too. With only the two of us, it’s just not worth my effort, anymore. When you’re 78 and 80, you tucker out a lot faster than you used to. (May even have to do without the front door wreath; as I recall, it’s on the highest shelf of all, of course!).
I did, at least, decorate the railing from the main level of the house to the upstairs level I’m on right now, with a wreath and garland on the handrail. That will just have to do. Since our bedroom is on the main level, we’ll be able to see the garland any time we come out. There’s enough cooking, housekeeping and bookkeeping to keep me busy; I don’t need to pile on any more extra chores that could be dispensed with. No grown children to call on, nor will I ask help from the neighbors; they have their own list of must-dos. Makes me sound like the Grinch, doesn’t it? And that pretty well describes my attitude toward Christmas this year.
Apologies to all for the downer I’ve just unloaded on you. Really!!!
And if she DOES get a parachute, you’d have to be wary of an aerial assault! (Whew!)