Intermission

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Aren’t those tree-wrapping tubes splendid?  I am old enough to remember the tribulations of trying to carry a spiky tree done up randomly with string; they always used to escape bonds while still some distance from home and one would arrive prickled and cursing, trying to keep the branches out of one’s nose.  Today’s trees are better disciplined.  Mine is now lurking in the dark garage, still imprisoned in its netting, with its foot in a bucket of water, awaiting a glorious transmogrification before the inevitable end.

In a moment of energy I washed a lot of windows.  And then I lolled with some time to do a few December things:

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