After.

It’s certainly After Christmas now. I knew for sure when I was rounding the corner and heading back to my apartment after a lovely (but chilly) walk around the neighborhood. I stopped too often and took too many pictures of mushrooms in the mud. Silly but I love them almost as much as I love shooting flowers.

Back to my story, here at our apartment, residents can leave their used Christmas trees by the mixed recycling to be turned into mulch. The pile is four or five and it’s only three days after Christmas. How sad.

Image

Until next year.

Growing up, we only ever had a real tree when my dad forgot my mom was highly allergic to pine. I guess it happened quite a few times when I was really young but I don’t remember. I’ve only ever had fake trees since I moved out on my own. Cut trees make me sad. Oh, the smell divine (except if your my mom who can’t even go walking in a pine forest!) but I’d rather have a kitschy one of plastic that I can pull out every year. I totally understand the whole hunt for the perfect tree, but it’s not for me. Luckily, DH agrees. No arguments over Christmas trees. That’s got to be a plus for fake trees too. Ha.

We’re talking about taking ours down over the weekend so I have more room to sew and make my usually crafty messes. I guess I’m lucky DH enables my hobbies. He even bought me another lens for Christmas after swearing seven ways to Sunday I wasn’t getting one this year. 

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