We grinched yesterday

I usually love that. Cleaning up, getting rid of all the red and green, the glitter, the shedding fir. I was always the first on the street to drag the tree to the curb, sometimes as early as Christmas afternoon. My reason, ostensibly, was that it had become a fire hazard. But, really, I just wanted it done. Out. Over. Back to normal.

Not this year. Don’t know why but taking stuff down and stowing it away was not fun. Not even a little bit.

Santy went peacefully back into his drawer, carefully tucked in with his old sheet, not to be seen for another 353 days. But who’s counting?

The ornaments are nicely organized but, more importantly, they are in a closet where I can easily see them if I want to take a quick peek.

I’ve left a few vestiges of the decorations tucked in spots around the house. Only I know where they are. And they’ll still be there this time next year.

I don’t understand this at all.

But as the song says, “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to.”