Because I was reluctant to travel for the holidays, it was the first time we ever spent Christmas in our own home. My sister Pooh was nice enough to brave the gloom and come share the holidays with us. Thanks to her, the holiday spirit arrived, a bit late perhaps, but it still came. She and my sweetie went out on Christmas eve to acquire a tree, only to discover that tree lots are not open on December 24th. Fortunately, a little determined dumpster diving on their part came up with a three foot fir that she still refers to as the Charley Brown tree. We dug out the ornaments and made a tin foil star for the top.
Other festive touches included
- Dr. Demento's Christmas carols. Not exactly reverent, but worth a few laughs.
- Repainting the fake brick he previous owners had splashed with strokes of mustard, barn red and ivory (it was supposed to look like old brick). It looked much classier in Najavo White.
- Climbing in and out of windows to use the bathroom as the newly varnished hardwood floors dried. Yeah, it was December, but it was a Southern California winter.
- And two out of three of us successfully avoided stepping on the carpet tack strips that had just been nailed into the concrete in preparation for our new carpet. Nothing says Christmas like tacks.
Besides some unusual Christmas memories, I still have the little tinfoil star and a firm belief that stars, not angels or treetoppers, belong on a Christmas tree.
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