Yesterday was close to my ideal Christmas. There was a change of plans when Daisy came down with a fever, so instead of going to a family party, we lounged . . . playing, cooking, reading, watching the Lakers. I took a little ride on my like-new bike - a gift from my husband - and enjoyed the neighborhood at its quietest. The kids spread their new toys in piles across the house and rotated through them, no annoying clean-up time to interrupt their progress.
That clean up is now way overdue, but Violet and I have joined Daisy in spaced-out sickland. The most productive thing I've done today is order a meatball pizza. The Christmas aftermath is always a little sad, but with flu symptoms, it's dismal. I'm searching for the energy to do something about it, and for some reason, it's encouraging to think about the worldwide after-Christmas mess. What happens to all those orphaned trees?
These trees were dumped next to a pub outside London. I imagine there were that many men who recognized an airtight excuse to stop by the pub.
There's something sentimental about this picture.
I wish I could throw MY Christmas tree out the window.
Do you think the other people ran when the fire started or refused to watch?
Lagging.
Free roaming.
Vintage.
picture 2: http://www.flickr.com/photos/daveparker/3165551720/
picture 3: http://www.flickr.com/photos/cardboardmonsters/380834794/
picture 4: http://www.flickr.com/photos/collinanderson/2303997318/
picture 5: http://www.flickr.com/photos/aoifecitywomanchile/3151796989/
picture 6: http://www.flickr.com/photos/arenamontanus/362447449/
picture 7: http://www.flickr.com/photos/themacinator/3486824889/
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