And that's all I have to say about that.
new tree, a perfect, aromatic Frasier fir — tall and slender, not taking up too much floor space in our living room — never drank any water. As always, my husband had filled a big watering can with a solution of tree preservative, which he refers to as "Skele-Gro." But the tree refused all of it. So by Christmas Eve, it was shriveling, its branches curling downward and inward in clawlike contortions, sending some ornaments crashing to the floor. By New Year's Eve, it was a depressing fire hazard.
Here Lion is listening while Possum makes deprecating comments about the tree.
We took it down on New Year's Day. Normally, we'd have kept it up for another week or ten days but, for once, it felt great to get rid of it. There were about five glass-ornament casualties this year. Some were due to my clumsiness but others just flew off the tree, including one of my four glazed doughnut ornaments, a gift I'd initially hated but then came to adore. The broken one was vanilla:
I will be hunting for a replacement on eBay, along with a blue glass German bell, which chimed.
But we still have a few ornaments left:
Now that the tree is gone, Harris can't wake us up every night by smacking at the tree and knocking ornaments off of it, a sound disturbing enough to get me out my warm bed every time. He is searching for another hobby. So far, he hasn't tried to walk on the fireplace mantels, which remain covered with boughs and lights, glass paperweights, sugared fruit topiary trees, and glittered pinecones... I don't know what's taking him so long.