When I was a child living in an old farmhouse out on French Road, the Christmas tree came down on Twelfth Night, the day before my mother's birthday. By Twelfth Night, the tree, which was cut in our own woods, was dropping its dry needles all over the carpet. One of my job was to pick the needles out of the carpet.
I've continued with that tradition, but with the funeral in Illinois, we didn't have time to finish the job yesterday. When I got up this morning, I took down my office tree and all the decor around the house, leaving the big tree still decorated in the dining room.
This afternoon, I had some kind of a sneezing and nose dripping attack that put me back in bed for the afternoon. Though I feel better this evening, I still have that one tree to go. It will still be there tomorrow. I don't really mind. It's extending the holidays that much farther.
At least now, I have an artificial tree so no needles have dropped.
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