The last twenty-four hours of daughter visit. The tree must come down. I can’t take the idea of having a tree shaking off needles after the family has dispersed. Besides, in the next several weeks, I’m only fleetingly in Madison. And I like closure.
In the morning, when the house is quiet, I want to get to it. Off with the ornaments, Put away stockings, bells, wreaths, holiday dishes and glasses – all of it!
It is a huge job and part of me wishes I would wait for daughters to return from their outing so that I'd have help.
Ed watches. I think he cannot believe what a big production this entire holiday is. The challenge of a rugged path up a desolate mountain? No problem. This? Best to retreat and hide.
But he is there, on the floor, grunting, when the time comes to take the monster bush out. We cannot get the tree into the tree bag. We cannot get the tree out the door. Or down the elevator. Or round back to the recyclable room. There is a lot to curse about and I manage to cover the range.
The tree is out.
The clean up really begins.
All the way until sunset.