We took the Christmas decorations down today, which sidesteps the debate as to whether twelfth night is the 5th or the 6th of January. Either seems to be stretching Christmas out too long when we went to our first Christmas party a month ago, and I went to a carol service the week before that.
The tree had attained a state of brittleness where one brisk tap seemed likely to send every needle dropping to the floor. At the Systems Administrator's suggestion we moved the tribal rug next to it before dismantling it, so that the SA could vacuum the fallen needles off the wooden floor rather than having to winkle them out of the carpet. As every touch sent another shower of needles clattering to the floor I thought that was a good idea.
And now everything has gone, the naked tree sitting up by the compost bins ready to be shredded, the bannisters bare of ivy, the glass baubles and strange toys back in their boxes, the holly on the bonfire heap, the festive red and green gingham tablecloth in the laundry basket, and the cards in a pile on my desk ready for me to look through them one last time, for sentiment's sake and in case there are any phone numbers or names that need to be copied into the address book. Only the needles keep appearing, and will do for weeks, all over the house. I found a small pile in the kitchen after the SA had finished vacuuming, and doubt I managed to shake all of them out of my hair.
I am always sad to see the tree go, and spent some extra minutes admiring it last night before going to bed, but the best parties are those you leave while you are still enjoying yourself. Tendring has a tree recycling scheme, but they're not having ours, as I want every shredded twig I can get to make mulch for the paths around the compost bins. Christmas trees, as I know from past years, shred very well. (Not all wood does. The stems of willow are so pliable that they just wrap themselves around the innards of our shredder.)
After saying farewell to the tree I spent the rest of the day tidying the dahlia bed and planting tulips left over from last year's pots. The right time to plant tulips is of course November, but I'm sure I've read articles by Anne Swithinbank or Pippa Greenwood or both saying they have planted odd bags they found tucked away in January and it was fine. Ours were not even tucked away, but in a box where I could see them every time I went into the garage, and they have been on my list of things to do since last November, I just haven't managed to find time to do them.
In some ways planting them now is easier anyway, because the shoots of the existing tulips give me some clue where not to dig. It is a laborious process, topping up a permanent display of bulbs, as you have to find gaps for them, and it's always disheartening to snap off a fat shoot you haven't seen in time, or find you have sliced right through a bulb. The resulting display is a little gappy, but cheerful enough as a prelude to the dahlias. Of course there will be no way of telling which of the bulbs that flower well, or come up blind, were planted today or had been in the ground already for years, given I've always chosen from the same red, orange and yellow palette. Good old 'Jan Reus', the orange lily flowered 'Ballerina', scarlet 'Appeldoorn'. It makes recycling them easy, since they always go with the previous year's display, except that this year I have gone for cream and pink as a change.
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