Three weeks later. I'm feeling well enough now to treasure these last quiet, solitary days at home, which will be over all too soon.
The tree is finally decorated, and lovely--it is good company for me when I'm on the couch and Amie has retreated to the Scientist's closet to snooze. Between my convalescence and the Scientist's schedule, the naked tree sat in the living room for three days before we finally "dressed" it. We have spent most of this week decorating a little at a time, rather than the do-it-all-in-one-night approach we usually employ. What a pleasure to say hello again to each old friend as I take it out of the box--Santas, stars, and angels alike.
I collect Christmas angels. I didn't know that until the day, some years ago, I realized there were more than twenty on the tree. Each one reminds me of a particular vacation, or the friend who gave it, or a Christmas forty years ago. They probably number about thirty-five now, not counting all the freestanding angels arrayed on the oak buffet in the foyer. The Scientist said, "It looks like you've got all the heavenly host in here."
The Scientist is away, overseeing a clinical trial, but will return tomorrow night. Please pray for the patient who will undergo this experimental treatment tomorrow.
Shopping (mostly online this year) is done, wrapping is almost done. I'm waiting for one more book for the Scientist--a book about the Minoans, to accompany the tome on the Mycenaeans that has already arrived.
Not singing in the Christmas concert this year was hard, but getting to just sit and enjoy it was fun. The most beautiful piece was an obscure cantata that deserves to be heard more often, Ralph Hunter's Sing Noel. I can find only one recording, by Gloriae Dei Cantores. It's a thoughtful and creative medley of carols, but is seldom performed--in fact our choir director described our presentation as its "Southwest premiere". If it were better known, it would become a mainstay of Christmas concerts.
This afternoon's dilemma: will the pleasure of making fruitcake cookies outweigh the aches and pains that probably will follow? Maybe I'll wait and make them this evening. Maybe I'll just lie here on the couch and look at the tree for a while.