Our Christmas tree has now had about twenty years of being dragged in from the garden, decorated, and then put back outside to be pretty much ignored for another twelve months. It has less and less pine needles as each year passes. I used to think that it would eventually grow too tall for the room, but it seems to have given up any hopes of being tall and instead gains only in circumference - a bit of a problem in a cottage as small as ours! Himself suggested cutting it back but I explained that it would make the tree look even more bald than it already is, as only the tips of the branches are properly green.
We disguise the baldness by hanging the tree with all the usual suspects and hope it will look alright.
A newcomer sits at the top of the tree, the bear in a muffler replacing a very battered old white felt mouse that I'd made about forty-five years ago. "You haven't thrown it out?" my daughters asked accusingly. I wouldn't have dared. "it's in the box," I told them. But some time soon I really must learn to de-clutter!
At two and a half our grandson is just the right age to be interested in everything and just the right height to be able to see the small decorations arranged on the window ledges. 'Just look, be gentle' worked well this year, things were carefully examined and nothing came apart in his hands!
Oh, the magic of stacking dolls.
And did anyone hear bells?
There was a lot of action in the kitchen; limes being squeezed for cocktails and cutters chosen to decorate Wee-One's cake,
crushed ice going back into the freezer and icing to roll.
On Boxing day friends came to lunch. Their Irish terriers, Maeve and Murphy, bounced into the house looking very festive in collars of scarlet tinsel. What lovely dogs. Our grandson and Murphy sat down on the floor and formed a mutual admiration society, Maeve lay quietly under the table while the adults above enjoyed a noisy time and ate yet more tasty food.
The following day I got the vac out for a quick tidy round. (The following day, I hear you say - you slattern!) I found a shred of stocking. 'Bit of a pop sock?' suggested Wee-One. Yes, but whose? Beneath the table we found the answer, a completely deconstructed felt santa, filched from the tree. Oh, Maeve, you have not properly entered into the spirit of Christmas!
And did someone say that Nana had lost her marbles?
Well, they're not under the kitchen dresser.
But the cake was good!