I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Never before have I had a Christmas tree up and decorated on the day after Thanksgiving. I never used to shop Black Friday either, but I did today and
I bought a fake Christmas tree: a pre-lit “pencil spruce”, six feet tall. It’s so skinny, I can stick it anywhere.
Tree snobs may sneer at my fake tree and lament the lack of evergreen aroma, but I’ve got an evergreen scented candle and a spray can of evergreen ambiance. Not the same, but close enough.
I quit doing Christmas trees years ago, preferring my secular winter diorama instead: twinkly aurora borealis lights behind a forest of bottle-brush evergreens and white birch trees with wired limbs that you bend into branch-ness, tiny caribou, cotton snow.
I bought a potted Colorado spruce when I first moved here, intending to plant it in the yard. A couple of elves got the idea to decorate the little tree all by themselves. It was the perfect size for elves. But the little tree turned brown and died this summer. I guess I left it in the pot too long. The elves were bummed, when they heard the news.
So, that’s why I bought the fake tree. It’s mostly for the elves. But today, I decorated without helpful elves. I hung garland and balls and sparkly pinecones and all the felt birdies and animals I’ve been stitching.
I like my skinny, six foot, fake tree. It’s a tree the elves can look up to.
Maybe I’ll take a picture of it, when I’m not so tired. I made sugar cookies too. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.