Trimming the Tree (bp coyle)

‘Trimming the tree’ my Grandmother called it. Do people use that expression any more? Seems like a long time since I’ve heard it.

I still have all of her decorations, ones dating back to Victorian times, many even further back than that. I’ve always been very careful with my things, Grandmother instilled that into me. Each precious bauble is wrapped in tissue paper on January sixth and packed safely away until next year.

It’s almost as much fun as unpacking them and seeing the beautiful colours. The ruby one is my favourite, just as it was Grandmother’s.

It’s just a shame that I can never use them all. Grandmother ordered a ten foot tall Norwegian spruce every Christmas, one so wide it almost filled her whole  dining room. And the smell of pine needles…

The memory is enough to make me tearful.

I make do with my three foot tall artificial one, though it’s looking quite bald in patches these days. Nothing a little tinsel won’t cover.

Of course there were always people coming and going at her house, admiring her tree, eating her homemade mince pies.

Nobody will see my little tree.

It’s just for me.

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