I took this picture a few minutes ago, in a darkened room, no lights except the tree lights. And, I guess, the camera flash, because look how light it turned out!

Is that me, reflected in the window? Gad, I’m fat.

Fifi the Angel has graced our tree-top since Belle was born; we’ve had only one Christmas without either of them.

It takes me about three full afternoons to decorate our trees. That’s “trees.” Plural. That’s right, there’s another one in the dining room. I can’t take a picture of that one right now because it would also show the dining room table all covered with rolls of gift wrap.

A closer look at my tree will show you how packed it is with the ornaments I have collected all my so-called ‘adult’ life. Okay, since 1973, I’m old, all RIGHT.

Both big trees are like this. Also, Hub’s tree down in the family room, which he never takes down. Why? Because he likes it. Sigh. I seldom go in there.

There are several foot-high trees here and there around the house. I don’t really count those as Christmas Trees, although ‘some’ people have called them so. Those are covered with miniature ornaments, much like the bigger ones on the actual Christmas Trees.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, neither of my children is especially interested in my beautiful Christmas ornaments; they prefer the vintage ‘fifties’ look for their trees: fragile glass ornaments and swags of ribbon and tinsel, etc. Oh well. I saw Belle’s tree a few days ago and it is breathtakingly beautiful. She has really good taste in spite of me.

I love this time of year so very much. I hate that it is winding down. It goes so fast, so incredibly fast.

Wahhhhhh, hold me. . . .