The Trees We Put Up Early

Last night London Sister sent us a picture of her seven-foot tree. She’s early this year. It’s not even mid-December, yet there it was, beautifully decorated, tastefully lit, standing proud in her high-ceilinged living room. This will be a poignant Christmas for her, her first without Jonny.

It reminded me of last year when Elle put her big tree up in November. Robin was in the last days of his life then, although I’m not sure she fully realised it. Maybe, somewhere in her mind, she sensed that if she waited until December, he’d never see it. Or perhaps she felt that if she didn’t put it up right then, she’d never have the heart to do it at all.

I’ve been watching the weather forecast all day. Storm Bram is in full swing, and if it doesn’t blow the polytunnel away, I’ll bring our own tree in tomorrow. We used to wait until Christmas Eve, but storms and years and losses have made me a little more positive about celebrating the season. After all, who knows how many more there will be, or how long we’ll have with each other?

And truth be told, the tree helps, a lovely corner of brightness when the days are short and the nights too long. So I’ll wrestle ours indoors tomorrow, if Bram allows. I feel the need of its cheer.

At least until January, when it’s back to the polytunnel with it.

A picture from the olden days, maybe around 40 years ago. It was the first one I turned up when I searched for 'Christmas Tree' on my EHD. Just as well it did as it's Katy's birthday today. My best Christmas present back in 1978. Happy Birthday Katkin!

Oh Christmas Tree!

My oldest daughter called round the other day and I was telling her, what with one thing and another, I wasn't feeling the festive season this year. And I confessed that I wished I'd sorted out a Christmas tree because that would have cheered me up. After all, Lorraine, despite Robin being so ill, made the effort to dress a tree for the sake of their grandchildren.

Zoe said, 

Surely after that storm there will be something  in the wood that you could bring in for a Christmas tree.

Storm Darragh did bring down scores of trees in our wood. The Scots pines were hit hard and a young oak grove also sucuumbed to the wind. But most of the casualties were firs.

Zoe and her dog Posie headed out to scout for a suitable evergreen. I imagined she'd find the tippy-top of some brute of a fir tree that Bert would have to take the chainsaw to. But no. She returned with the news that they'd found a perfect tree, a little fir that she'd planted that was ripped right out of the ground by the winds. She'd marked it with a silky scarf and after she left Bert went out to bring it in. It was potted up and brought in to the house. After what it had been through (Zoe grew it from a seed) I didn't want to put it in any of the living rooms. Far too warm for it with the wood-burners. So I settled it in a cool corner of the kitchen. I hope the tree enjoys a few days there and in the meantime will be cheering me up no end. I don't even mind that it looks a little lopsided. Bert potted it that way.

I expect this little tree will be at Zoe's house next year. After all, she did grow it from a seed.

 

Babies Aren't Fluffy

When does Christmas begin?  Some would say when the deckos and tree go up. In that case, there will be no Christmas at Nellybert's for there is no tree, no deckos. I excused myself because of Woody, the new kitten who is far more fun than Christmas trees and who would demolish a tree just as he is destroying my chilli plant by breaking its branches and batting all its baubles (ripening chillis) to the ground. He has yet to bite into one. 

Ben is very enamoured of Woody which is as it should be as it was him and his beloved who rescued the tiny kitty from the main street in Portglenone and brought him to us. He was cuddling Woody on Sunday, cradling the kitten like an infant, and Woody was loving it. I said,

Just think Ben. In a few years you might just be cuddling a real live baby.

He said,

I don't think so. Babies aren't as good as kittens. They're not fluffy.

Meanwhile, in homes from Dingle to Norfolk, people of all ages, kittenless people are putting up their Christmas trees and wreathes, real trees, vintage trees, arty trees, with hand-crafted ornaments, heirloom baubles, felted mice, stars, fairies, coloured lights, white lights and tinsel strands. I'm slightly envious. Next year, definitely next year - unless Ben and Sara find me another kitten.   

Trees and wreathes from the fam whatsapp. At least one of those trees was grown from seed by one of us. It wasn't me.

The Christmas Spirit

Only a week to go! Yet today I did absolutely nothing towards Christmas preparation, not one thing. Unless... unless giving away two jars of my chilli jam whilst telling the (lucky) recipients that chilli jam enhances turkey sandwiches like nothing else on earth.

A Christmas memory from 2014 - Martha and Evie in front of the smallest Christmas tree ever which they decorated by themselves. This year's tree will be slightly bigger. Maybe it is 2014's tree grown a bit. You never know. A young fellow came up this afternoon to collect a pot-grown tree and brought his little ones with him and I had to draw on all today's Christmas spirit to cope, for I wasn't expecting the children. Such noisy little buggers and when they're not your own it's hard to bear. Sunday evening should be a quiet time for old girls, not listening to bashing on xylophones and drums and fighting over plastic tiaras. But it's the children's time of year and they are all so excited about Santa Claus.

This week I should like to sort out four more presents, get grocery shopping, decorate the tree, and make a Christmas wreath. Christmas pudding has been crossed off my list. And I'm toying with the idea of having that young rooster killed as I caught him raping his own mother today. Although I probably won't.

Tomorrow I will get up at 3:30am to take Hannah to work. How's that for Christmas spirit?

Two Weeks Until Christmas

Holly de Cat's first Christmas. 2006

A Christmas that falls on a Sunday is, without doubt, my very favourite Christmas for it doesn't disrupt the week. One knows where one is with a Sunday Christmas. So this year will be good. I read it today's paper that people are particularly looking forward to this year's festivities - even people who normally dislike Christmas, people like me. The reason for this is that 2016 has been widely thought of as a very shitty year - very Brexity, very Trumpish. And, because of this,  we are all looking forward to a bit of seasonal cheer.

It has also been a year that has seen many fêted personalities die. Of course, famous and talented people die every year  but to lose David Bowie and Prince so close together was a lot to bear. Most recently AA Gill passed away and I was so sorry to hear of it for I admired his writing very much. For years I read the Sunday Times and his television review page was my favourite part. You didn't even need to have watched the show to enjoy his writing.

I lost a good friend myself in April this year and I still miss her very much. We remembered her in Sligo when the family gathered to celebrate Leitrim Sister's graduation, both events that proved 2016 wasn't all bad. And Master James, Katy and Mark's long yearned for baby boy turned a year old in July. Another gold star for 2016.

So, back to looking forward to my Sunday Christmas. Today I planned my Christmas menu and ordered the turkey. There are still some presents to buy and the tree has been chosen. It's a handy thing to be married to a man who sells potted fir trees. I haven't had to buy a tree for over ten years now. In the early days of the Bert's Wood we could get a tree from there but now those trees are 2-3 metres high are pretty damnable looking even if we did live in a castle.

December Daily Post, No. 21

Shortest day of the year. Yippee! Depth of winter on the turn.

Yesterday's day out was very enjoyable. Belfast very lively and sparkly, a wee bit Fleggy and, sad too say, there were more than a few folk settling down to sleep in doorways. It all seems a far cry from the olden days when the town died at night and only the security forces braved the mean streets. Back then homeless people would have been too frightened to sleep openly on the streets.

The ever-dwindling City Hall flag protest

Martha and Evie were here today and we fully intended that they should guest blog. As neither of them can write we decided to video blog and we made a very funny film with the iPad. There was ballet and everything. But we hit a snag, First of all, I was holding the iPad upside down so, until I find some way of editing it, a viewer must stand on his or her head. Then I couldn't find the connecting yoke that transfers stuff from the iPad to PC and it was too large for an email attachment so no guest blogging from Martha and Evie tonight.

To make up for it here is a rather poor picture of the girls standing in front of the tree that they trimmed all by themselves.

Preparations for Christmas? See above.

December Daily Post, No. 12

Eyes. Coming good.

Weather. Light dusting of snow.

Breakfast. Café Couture in Ballykeel.

Question. To Bert, “Should I bake something?”

Answer. From Bert, “Silly question, of course you should.”

Visitors. Young Rooney. Razza.

Walked. 21 minutes. Wore new jacket. Very cosy.

Baked. Steamed Syrup Pudding.

Supper. Toad-in-the-Hole.

Phone Call. London Sister.

Watched. The Departed. Late to the party I know. Lots of blood. Very good film.

General Mood. Happy.

Preparations for Christmas. Went outside and chose Christmas tree.

Christmas Begins

I've already completed a bit of Christmas shopping but, as it happened right here in front of this screen it doesn't really count. Today I hit the town, delivered a Christmas tree, took Miss Evie up the street and bought one thing. Then I came home, opened up my To Do spreadsheet, crossed off #27 Buy Kerry Sister present and replaced it with #104 Post present to Kerry Sister. Flushed with a real sense of achievement, I treated myself to a mug of coffee, an Ormo snowball and a read of The Guardian.

Christmas? It's a doddle.

Tomorrow I might tell you about the three incredibly rude women I encountered in the Tower Centre and how I dealt with them. That is if something more interesting doesn't occur in the meantime.

I'll leave you with a picture of the Christmas tree I brought to town and what happened when a pair of young reindeer got their mitts on it.

Organic home grown tree from Bert's Wood