Unless there is some compelling reason to do otherwise, I always take down my Christmas tree on King Day, January 6th. This year was not an exception, but it was raining so hard I had no desire to drag the tree across the muddy paddock to the fence line, especially because I don’t actually get dressed in the wintertime except on days when I need to go somewhere. So I put it outside, but it has been a week and I just haven’t felt like moving it yet. Though there’s no real danger of my becoming a recluse, I’m beginning to understand the mindset of elderly ladies in Gothic novels; I have a routine that I am comfortable with and prefer to maintain, so I tend to grumble when I have to break it to go to Aberdeen for some reason like groceries, and I really grumble when I need to drive to Seattle, especially in rainy weather. And if I were wealthy, I probably would have a handyman nearly as old as I am who does those chores for me. I wonder how much it would cost to have a manicurist come to me instead of vice-versa? Alas, too much. But it’s nice to think about, at least in monsoon season.
