It's a bit of a cross-table conversation killer, but pine boughs sure smell good.
Is it just me or is the entire world feeling especially Christmas-y a little earlier than usual this year? It's still November and visions of sugar plums and sablés croquants are dancing in my head. Much of the weekend was given over to making a Christmas CD. I've fallen hard for Sufjan Stevens, and Liberace's rendition of Ave Maria. It's beautiful, I kid you not. This morning finds me in a lovely and rare state of quiet planning. With the shop opening post-poned I now have the luxury of contemplating the details of the holiday. Fixing the wood fireplace, hosting a neighbourly open house, a trip on this steam train and making some Christmas cards are really the only must-do items this year.
The main event, the annual Christmas tree purchase, is still a few weeks away. I have not-so fond childhood memories of trekking across windy tundra with leaking boots and chapped cheeks to cut down our own tree with a dull hacksaw. I have no qualms about tree shopping in the parking lot down the street, Starbucks in hand. I've done my time.
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