The End of Christmas

Last week, I plunged into a hard day’s work putting away the Christmas decorations. It’s not nearly as much fun as putting them up in December. Usually I procrastinate on storing them away. Partly that’s because Christmas is fun and I hate to say it’s over, but mostly it’s because I begrudge the time spent boxing it all up.

The librarian in me want to sort all the decorations by categories as I pack them into the boxes. All the straw ornaments and wheat weavings go into one box, carefully layered in tissue paper. I wrap all the glass ornaments in lightweight foam or tissue paper and box them together. The really old ornaments like the turn-of-the-century santa get wrapped and placed in individual small boxes. It probably was hand-blown in Germany in the 1890s.

My feet were aching from standing on the hard, tile floor for so many hours as I removed items from the Christmas tree and collected holiday decor from all the rooms of the house. I always miss one or two things and discover them days or even weeks later in obscure places. There was no energy left to tackle the big tree, so I left it up for one more day. It stood denuded, but still a stately presence in the living room. The following day, I wrestled it into three sections and, with some assistance, stuffed it into its oversized canvas carrying case.  My husband dragged it to the garage where it will be in the way for the next eleven months.

It’s done… all the boxes stored on shelving. Each box sports a fresh label that says merely “XMAS” and so for another year, Christmas is stored away.


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