The end of a tree

I didn’t go on about it too much at the time, but Christmas this year was amazing. My husband worked his butt off finishing up various construction projects in time for the big day, and we decorated the house so beautifully I never wanted to go to sleep; I just wanted to wander from room to room for days on end saying drippy things like “Oooooh, pretty lights!” and “Ribbons and pine cones – how tasteful!”

Yeah, I know. Pathetic. But it really did look nice.

We fulfilled one of my lifelong Christmas fantasies this year: we had two trees – the living room tree, and another one in our bedroom. (Yes, they were both live. We don’t do plastic.) I didn’t think about the implications of removing the upstairs tree when I was decorating it. I was too busy drooling and saying “Pretty lights!”

Yesterday while I was obsessing about the details of the ending of my novel, my husband took care of tree removal.

Wait until you see what he did to it