This is what 9 christmas trees look like in a little dining room. They are quite friendly, and their fragrance, sparkled with orange scent, is marvelous.

I should also note how the trees exited the house…much faster than hauling them back down the stairs.

tree exit

What does it look like to have 9 christmas trees in your dining room? This is the thought that crossed my mind when walking past strewn-to-the-curb christmas trees. My friend provided his dining room in Boston for the staging.

Trees should be placed at the curb by 7 a.m. on residents’ normal household garbage collection day. Residents are asked to leave the tree at the curb for one week before contacting Durham One Call at (919) 560-1200 to report a missed tree collection. Trees taller than six feet should be cut in half. Remove all decorations and hardware, including tinsel, lights, garland, ornaments, nails, and stands. Residents are also asked to not place trees in bags.

Christmas trees may also be dropped off at the City’s Waste Disposal and Recycling Center at 2115 E. Club Blvd. Monday through Friday, 7:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., and Saturday, 7:30 a.m. to noon at no charge until March 1. Customers are asked to arrive at least 30 minutes before closing. Trees delivered after March 1 will be subject to the usual disposal fees.

Additionally, Christmas trees will be accepted at the city’s Paper Shredding, E-Waste, and Christmas Tree Recycling Event on January 26th at Durham County Memorial Stadium. For more information, see http://durhamnc.gov/Pages/NNDetails.aspx?detailId=334

For Durham County residents, Christmas trees can be brought to the Convenience Sites for recycling. http://dconc.gov/index.aspx?page=237

ALCOHOL WHAT DO YOU DO TO MEEEEEEEEE noooo (which I would say if I was actually that hungover, which I’m not but it’s always fun saying them).

Couldn’t let Christmas pass without at least one picture of a weird Christmas-tree ;)

Εντάξει Κολλητέ, που μου ήθελες και ράντομ ποστ;

=^.^= Koneko.

What caught my eye today: the trucks going in and out and in again (that DOESN’T sound dirty at all, dudes) the driveway on the other side of the road. It is inexplicable (what a nice word!!!) to me what they want there, since it happens all the time, everyday. Seriously, if there’s something for free somebody should tell me.

After

A few days ago I came home to find the lobby tree limbless.

What was

What is

Sometime between 31 December and 3 January Mme Ranah’s trailer burned to the ground. In the three months before the conflagration I’d passed her trailer at least 96 times but never once saw her. The trailer next door seemed to do well serving crepes and hot dogs and I often wondered if the two were connected. The crepe trailer seems more or less unscathed but hasn’t reopened. I have no idea what happened and keep waiting for the burnt remains to magically disappear. I wander if Mme Ranah saw this coming?

Update 25 février 2013

Past, Present, Future

In early February a new trailer appeared where the old one had been. A few days after that, I noticed a light in the trailer and stopped to take a picture. As I aimed my phone I noticed a woman heading toward the trailer door. Are you Mme. Ranah?, I asked. Yes, she said. She was not the shapeless, flowy skirt and colorful scarf wearing woman I’d expected but rather an elegant black clad, red haired, carmine lipped woman of a certain age. She explained that on the night of réveillon (New Year’s Eve) some hooligans had gone around the neighborhood lighting cars on fire. Her trailer was one of their targets. She cried when she saw the wreckage and was fearful her insurance wouldn’t cover a replacement. Happily it did.  To her amazement strangers and neighbors began calling to see if she was ok and to find out when she’d be back. And people like me stop her to say how happy they are to see her trailer and to know she’s back in business. Should you find yourself in the 14th near Denfert-Rochereau Mme. Ranah is available by appointment everyday but Sunday. She can be reached at 06.23.44.69.07. The crepe place is back in business as well.

4 avril 2013, The latest incarnation

It’s rather bunkerlike but the green is nice.

The sadness…..

While out for an early morning walk today I saw this poor, sad Christmas tree. Stripped of all festive cheer it had been callously dumped next to some bins. It reminded me of one of my favourite Shel Silverstein poems.

MERRY…
No one’s hangin’ stockin’s up,
No one’s bakin’ pie,
No one’s lookin’ up to see
A new star in the sky.
No one’s talkin’ brotherhood,
No one’s givin’ gifts,
And no one loves a Christmas tree
On March the twenty-fifth.

(Poem ‘MERRY…’ from Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein ©)

Last night I saw a brilliant news piece about how Christmas trees were being recycled to help prevent the erosion of sand dunes at Camber Sands in East Sussex. They can also be used to help wildlife, especially birds.

What better way to say ‘thank you’ to the tree that was an important and much loved part of your home over the festive season, then by returning it to the ‘wild’ where it can be of service to nature.

So as much as I hate to disagree with Shel, there is a lot of love to be shared with Christmas trees long after the holidays have passed.

A bit belated, but interesting nonetheless. If you’ve never been to “A Longwood Christmas”; then go. Although be prepared for your Christmas lighting standards to be hoisted…

- In reading the signals of adult ADD I lost interest and wrote this instead.

- My office supplies bagels and cream cheese every Friday for breakfast, which is great. This Friday they also supplied us with some pizzas for lunch. Equally great! However, I realized at the end of the day that all I had eaten was different forms of bread covered in cheese.

you wouldn’t believe what my office supplied us for dinner

- When the “Xlerator” bathroom hand dryer came out it blew peoples minds (and wet hands). I remember thinking that this put all other hand dryers to shame and if your restaurant or business used anything but an Xlerator, you clearly didn’t give a shit about modernity. My question is, what is the next step in hand dryer technology? Will you be able to watch the water evaporate perhaps? Supersonic, 2 second drying time? Whatever the next innovation is it will make the Xlerator seem like it is merely yawning lukewarm air on you. Damn, I’m looking forward to it.

enjoy your 15 minutes of fame…the clock is ticking.

- I was walking down the street the other night and a man walking his dog was approaching me. The man gets close to me and spits, rather violently I might add, in the street. As I look in his direction I come to find he is staring at me. Paranoia sets in and I begin to think the man spat at me in disgust. What did I do??? I was just walking. Needless to say he probably wasn’t spitting at me but the series of events was disconcerting to say the least.

- This first few weeks after Christmas means that the streets of New York are absolutely filled with unwanted and used up Christmas trees. I can’t help but think that now would be a great time for a serial arsonist to strike Manhattan. Especially considering the enormous amounts of dried up wood everywhere.

“And in other news today, the Christmas Tree Arsonist has struck again, this time in Manhattan’s Nolita district. Here is an account from an eye witness….” Then, a fat bald man would say, “I sawr him walk right up to it, I says to myself, somethings a little off about this guy but, ya know, I didn’t think much of it. Then he proceeded to pour copious amounts of gasoline onto the tree and set it aflame. I was shocked. I’m still shocked.”

“And the sumbitch just threw his cigarette into the tree! Right on the street. He faded into the shadows almost immediately and god knows when he is going to strike again.”

- The firefighter in the above picture must be thinking, “YOU SEE KIDS??? IT’S NOT FUNNY. THIS IS SERIOUS! THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON’T PAY ATTENTION!”

- Yeah, I’m the kind of guy that puts emoticons into business emails. Pictures are worth a thousand words, right? Well a winking smiley face within my message says, “I’m being cute and kind of coy (plus about 993 more words).”

- Why is it that Christmas trees get more flack for starting fires than menorahs? It seems like every year there is a nightly news story about some jackass that didn’t water his tree and it spontaneously burst into flames from the Christmas lights.  What about menorahs?? Those dangerous things have eight tiny fires on them! You rarely hear stories of Jewish families neglecting their menorahs and facing the tragic consequences.

“No! Not near the drapes!!! You fool!!! Our holiday!”

-When you think about it, scattered Christmas trees strewn about city streets really represents the American way: I want you, you’re pretty, here’s a lot of money because I want you,  actually – I need you, oh – look at the time, I guess I don’t need you anymore, you serve no purpose to me, fuck off, die in the streets alone.

Cue Sarah McLaughlin.

- Garbage men must really hate this time of year. Not only is it frigid but now they have to pick up enormous, spiky trees every day. I suppose a tree smells a hell of a lot better than a garbage bag that is filled with shit and puke and food and old dairy products. Still, it’s strenuous.

- I had a dream that Roy Orbison had a neck tat. He didn’t but man, if he did..

Why have a pile of trees when you can have a circle?!

And here are the trees spotted in and around Ladywell, Crofton Park and Brockley this morning:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Meanwhile our own tree remains standing – undressed – in the corner of our living room because I can’t seem to get it out. I got it in, so surely I can get it out?! I can only cope with its bare sadness for so long, so might attempt a short, sharp lift complete with brittle pine needle trail later on – does that count towards Janathon?

I used to harbour the ambition of compiling a list of all movies which feature Christmas, however tangentially, as it seemed important to me at one point. In fact, it still seems important. Quite important. Not very important. The Terry Gilliam film Brazil starts on Christmas Eve and I believe it’s Christmastime in one of the Die Hard films and the Eddie Murphy film Trading Places takes place over the Christmas-New Year period. These aren’t Christmas films – anyone can compile a list of Christmas films – they often have the word Christmas in the title, and I was interested in these films too. There may have been a plan to possess a whole trove of Christmas-related material: obvious and less-obvious films and the Christmas specials which most TV shows have (reminds me of an episode of The Sopranos when the usual mobster was unavailable to play Santa for the local children and so a different man put on the suit and did a bad job, losing control of the situation and accusing a little boy of not being very good at all, and the little boy said: “Hey, fuck you Santa!” It made me laugh – and that would have gone into the pile of Christmas stuff).

Recently, we have been watching Christmas episodes from Frasier and The Office (the American version, which we finally forced ourselves to sample, and have to admit is a good show, although not as subtle and clever and brilliant as the original (of course). When I was a smaller person I had informal rules about this sort of thing, and Christmas was basically over by Boxing Day. Certainly watching something Christmas-related after this time was an empty experience, I decided, and thus avoided doing it if I could. Better to get on with it and not make yourself sad, I thought. But now the rules are more relaxed and the emptiness is gone (or it is lessened) and I have made a conscious effort in other ways too to think of the season as a full season, which lasts right through to Twelfth Night.

But back to the tree. When we bought it it seemed OK, not unmanageably tall, and we’d discussed not getting something too big for the space we have, especially as the room we use now has more book shelves and other furniture and being crammed we weren’t sure how it would all fit together in the available space. The man at the tree place suggested it and we said yes. We never say yes to the first one but we did this time. We were aware that they are often taller than this, the ones we’ve previously bought, but this one seemed to conform to what we’d spoken about and what we were looking for. And it seemed fatter than usual. Doubts festered on the way home in the car. Was this right? Would it be too small? It was an unstated fear that the thing would be unsuitable – to look tiny and wrong and prove to us that we should have asked to see more trees at the trees shop. But it was fine. Slightly, very slightly, shorter than some others, but so full, so lush, a wide, dense, thickly branched specimen quickly acknowledged as the best tree we’d ever chosen together, and I might say, possibly the best I’ve ever seen.

There was more than enough room for all of the decorations. And some more. We bought a few other accent pieces – which sounds wanky, and we didn’t call them that, but there are a number of beautifully coloured and blown glass ornaments alongside crocheted things and figures and toys and baubles of other colours and materials, and it all just worked so very well this time. It always works well. Laetitia is chief decorator and I help. We decorate together but she has creative control. This time, though, it worked very well indeed.

And it struck me, not for the first time, that I am lucky. We both are into Christmas. It’s not a big thing and I wonder if relationships fail due to disagreements about tinsel, but people do have very definite ideas about how to observe this time of year, or not observe it, and what’s silly or unnecessary or childish, and it is a very good thing to not have to explain to your partner why you think we really could do with more flashing lights for the front yard. It works. We read A Christmas Carol to each other, and to the dogs and the cat, at Christmas 2011 and it seemed neither silly nor unworthwhile. Some of the accents and voices were a little bit all over the place, but that’s an aesthetic judgement, and it didn’t detract from the story, and the pets didn’t complain either.

The attraction of Christmas was never the presents for me, although I have been given some very fine and lovely things over the years. Presents was part of it, the magic of items shimmeringly appearing under the tree, glimpsed in the flashing lights every few seconds in the gloom of early morning. The magic of Santa, an immortal, almost godlike man dedicated to bringing childish joy, always seemed to resonate with me, and the joy and enjoyment don’t have to be childish, they can be childlike, I’ve learned, and therefore it’s up to you if you believe or want to take part. That’s what I’ve learned later: that there’s a whole collection of traditions from various cultures and you can dip into whichever ones suit, but that in general it is an occasion which you are free to opt into or out of, and I’ve always felt sorry for those who don’t opt in: people who don’t have a tree or don’t eat special foods or don’t do anything different that day, in honour of the day, to mark its splendid difference. These people have always been objects of pity for me, and not a little confusion, for as Scrooge’s nephew says at one point in A Christmas Carol, people who don’t take part and don’t partake are only hurting themselves by the harmless fun they miss[1]. Opting out does not detract from the enjoyment of anyone who choses to opt in (or not very much anyway). And that’s what I knew all along. That is was a special day. A family day. Where people gather and demonstrate their connectedness to each other. (And yes, I’m romanticising a bit, but this is the core of what it should be like: it is at least the reason for the time and money and effort which goes into making the occasion worthwhile.)

There are less definable things too: the way a pine tree smells in the house, the way baked vegetables smell and look in a bowl on the table, and many others.

New Years Eve has never had the same pull for me. It’s a popular time for many people, all over the world, and one reason must be that there is no religious connotation, and that all makes perfect sense. It also makes sense that people like the fact that it’s not hanging out with your relatives, as at Christmas, and being bored with stories you’ve heard before told by people who perhaps didn’t really need to drink the last drink they drank. The logic that then says: “right I’ll go off and drink heavily with other people at New Years” lacks a certain logic in one way, and yet it also makes sense. It’s something you do with your friends, and it’s about independence, and there’s a degree of freedom as you choose how to celebrate and where to celebrate and with whom. But unless you know wealthy people you often end up in a huge crowd looking at fireworks and thinking your feet can’t really get much sorer than they are right now.

The prospect of the new makes people happy. It’s exciting. The promise of the unknown rather than the fear, and that’s a reason to carouse.

Maybe people do more grown up things as they get a bit older at this time of year. I suspect they do. I’m quite happy to stay home and to listen to classical music and sip from several glasses of spirituous liquor and basically pretend that the whole thing isn’t really happening, but Laetitia isn’t. It’s a big thing for her, and in consequence we’ve developed a kind of two New Years system. It’s not perfect but it has worked well enough in recent times. It makes me feel a bit guilty, but then several things do that, and it must also be understood that the year ticking over is quite a depressing occasion for me. It’s just not Christmas, and that’s the point, I suppose.

I went outside yesterday morning  to find a huge Christmas tree at my curb  . I was looking at it , wondering where it came from , when my neighbor Ed came out to get his newspaper . ” Kids ,” he said . ” It seems someone  TPed  someone and this was revenge . There were  five or six Christmas trees  on their lawn this morning . ” Ed was looking at the house across the street . There are two teenagers living there . The tree in front of my house must have been part of the night’s event .   ” It wasn’t a very nice thing to do ,”  Ed said as he carried his paper away . No , it wasn’t .

Last night  Ada said , ” Oh , I have some beer in the car . I bought it for Christmas . “

Despite a light rain in progress , I went out to investigate . Under a couple of Christmas wreaths in the car were two boxes of beer :  Beers of the World and Winter Brew . Merry Christmas ! It was Christmas all over again all of a sudden . I shook off the rain drops when I got back into the house and opened  a bottle of Ebenezer Ale . Try to find Ebenezer Ale in July ! Merry Christmas !

I dragged the huge tree near the curb in front of my house over across the street after I saw that there were , indeed , several trees piled at the side of the across the street neighbor’s  lawn . I hadn’t seen them at first . They had looked like a large hedge . Ed was right about all the trees over there  on the lawn that morning .  I couldn’t count all the Christmas trees in the pile . It looked like a Christmas tree lot . I put the tree that had appeared at my curb  on the top of the pile . Merry Christmas neighbor ! One more abandoned tree won’t matter .

If Lake Havasu were at the end of the block I’d help the neighbor take the trees over to the lake and we’d throw them in . The fish would have a place of shelter .  Five hundred Christmas trees were thrown into Lake Havasu last year according to the L.A. Times .  They take a few years to deteriorate and , meanwhile , the fish have a place to hang out . Merry Christmas Lake Havasu fish ! Hope you liked your gift .  But Arcadia is nowhere near Lake Havasu .  Sorry , neighbor , but they’re your teenagers and the pile of  trees is your problem .

I follow a blog now called This Is Why I’m Drunk .   I know , that sounds bad , but it’s well-written and informative . The blogger describes various tastes of beers with the sense of a poet , an artist , a scientist .  It’s an informative blog about micro-brew beer .  ” What I Drink and What I Think ”  is the subtitle of the blog . There is probably an army of beer bloggers out there . I checked out a micro-brewer’s blog whose  brewery is in South Carolina — too far away to hope for a taste . I like to drink beer , but I’m not going to spend my days reading up on it . Maybe once in awhile .

I once found a six pack of beer in an icy stream high up in the Sierras . My two college roommates and I were camping in the wilderness one weekend in July . We went for an icy swim in a mountain pool  and one of us stepped on the beer . Somebody  had evidently put it there to cool but had  lost it . It was a fantastic surprise for us .  We drank some  surprisingly  cold beers in the warm Sierra woods  that long-ago summer day . Thanks again , Santa !

Surprise ! Surprise ! Beer !  It’s like Christmas !  But maybe you have to be a beer drinker to understand . I think that I’ll go out to the kitchen now and  choose a Special Winterfest Brew ,  maybe a Shiner bock Holiday Cheer ,  or perhaps one of the Beers of the World . Thanks , Santa , for the beers !

So , I like beer . Could be worse .  At least I’m not out at night tossing discarded Christmas trees onto someone’s lawn for fun .  That wasn’t a very nice thing to do , unless  the tossers had way too much beer and in their drunkenness  mistook the lawn across the street for Lake Havasu .

1.- When and where did the tradition of Christmas Tree start ?

2.- How many trees do they produce in this Chinese factory?

3.- What is the material they use to produce Christmas Trees?

In other news, the Christmas Tree is finally down. We learned the woes of untangling lights from a pre-lit tree though since one of the strands went out. I think next year we’re going to just put the lights on ourselves. Way less trouble that way. Part of the entire strand went out and as we looked through, we counted at least 10 bulbs that were all blown on the strand. Looked like some kind of power surge. Either way, taking that strand off the tree was more difficult that you would expect. I kind of wish I’d taken a picture of all the annoying plastic pieces that were holding wires onto the tree branches, but I was just happy to be finished. I’m pretty sure my hands and fingers are going to be sore for the next couple of days. Thanks a ton, tree!

The bad part is that we still have the middle and bottom sections of the tree that we need to remove lights from at some point. I guess they’ll just have to wait until next year when I feel like dealing with that mess again. If only they had sold trees that weren’t pre-lit when we were picking up ours a couple of years back. *sigh*

Anyway, here’s an update on the writing for today. Not too much, but better than nothing.

Project: Smoke & Witchcraft

Summary: My trio of protagonists (a werewolf, a half-vampire, and a sharpshooter) head to New Orleans to investigate a series of unexplained abductions. So far this pulpy paranormal will have plenty of banter, a slew of fistfights, undercover operations that fail miserably, battles of magic, a necromancer seductress, a coven of witches with a bad rap, and a ton of zombie alligators. Also I plan to toss the damsel in distress idea on its head since both guys will likely need saving. Oh, and did I mention awkward romance?

Current Word Count: 56,178

New Words Written Today: 1,060

Progress: What exactly does a witch keep in her workshop? Mary and Colton are about to find out. Colton also wonders how the Agency is going to take the fact that Mary is traveling with him, and how long he can keep it a secret.

Total Words for 2013: 1,060

It’s funny how quickly you get used to Christmas decorations; how homely, inviting and warm they make a house feel.   They are the spark for the flame of the Christmas spirit which inhabits most homes every year, especially those housing uber-excited ‘naughty and nice’ list delegates!  After waiting a year for the festive season, it always  flies by as quickly as Santa delivers 2 billion gifts around the world in one night.

At this time of year it seems our New Year’s resolutions also get packed away with the tinsel and the Christmas stockings.  Driving to work this morning, Radio 1′s DJs were talking about their New Year’s Resolutions, polling each other on whether they had broken their 2013 promises yet, when one DJ informed the audience that by the end of the week, most of us will have given up on our New Year’s resolutions!

A complacent smirk crept across my face as I mentally complimented my unusual strength of  my 2013 resolve.  It felt like this year would be the year I would keep my resolutions.  I felt so strong, I vowed then and there to add new goals for each one that is ticked off my original list.

However, when I arrived home to lonely, awkward shaped gaps in my furniture layout and pale, lifeless walls…….I recalled DJ Danny’s words from this morning……My resolutions no longer seemed so vivid, so achievable; they were fading, and my will to commit was feeling battered and bruised.

Perhaps this is why so many of our New Year’s resolutions are the same each year; perhaps they are stored away with the  baubles and the fairy lights each January, where they wait for the magical season’s sparkle to dust them off the following year!

strong hands and back
working without complaint,
knowing how to make do,

and the new:

vacuuming trails of pine needles,
off to a recycling center.

Adelicia Acklen, whose skill at manipulating men would have made Scarlet O’Hara seem like a schoolgirl.

Belmont Mansion’s modest back yard, ca. 1863.

Not that Adelicia was at all bitchy. Oh no; butter would not melt in her mouth; she was a godly woman and prolific progenetrix. And she was very, very wealthy. Where once rows of magnolias blossomed, today stands Music Row; other vestiges of Adelicia’s estate have also gone with the wind (or kudzu as the case may be) but the mansion she once resided in, Belmont, remains and–at least at Christmastime–so does she.

Adelicia started off her career as a humble country girl in Sumner County, with several thousands of acres of prime farmland and a few dozen champion show horses to her name. Her father was a simple farmer whose wealth could only be counted by a handful of accountants working night and day. However, wealth begets more wealth, and the young and beautiful Adelicia married a prosperous doctor who amplified her estate and sired several children with her. Poor thing, his health was not so strong as her loins and he died prematurely, leaving her a wealthy widow. She remarried, this time to a far wealthier man, Joseph Acklen, who owned large plantations on the lower Mississippi, which produced bountiful crops of cotton.

In due course, Adelicia bore Joseph a bountiful crop of several more children and he in turn built her the magnificent Italianate mansion of Belmont. Sitting on a long sloping hill, one approached Belmont in the old days as if one were ascending Mount Olympus to visit the gods. Downton Abbey would have been a pauper’s hut compared to Belmont in its heyday. All went well, until the War.

Nearby Nashville fell early to the invading Yankee armies and the miles between there and Acklen cotton plantations in Louisiana were long indeed and for most of the war the area between the two a no man’s land in which the various armies marched and fought. Not long into the conflict, husband Joseph headed south to look after their financial interests along the Mississippi, lest their family fortune be ruined. Adelicia remained home to look after her growing brood of children and her thoroughbred horses.

Then one fateful day came word that her beloved Joseph had died of a fever tending to their cotton. Adelicia sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, saying “What am I to do, what am I to do!” and then it struck her: what about the cotton? Where the hell was it; had it been harvested; was it ready to be shipped—and how? Adelicia, for all her beauty, was not one to simply fan herself and stand idly by while her family fortune went up in flames. With no further ado, she piled a female cousin and two loyal servants in a carriage and headed into the hundreds of miles of lawless no-mans land, where deserters and robbers and guerillas would sooner kill you as look at you.

In the end she saved the cotton; shipped it abroad and sold it in England for premium prices, emerging even wealthier than before the war—a feat unique among Southern planters. For many years she was the queen of postwar Southern society and her evening parties and Christmas Balls were legendary. Belmont became the epicenter of postwar Dixie’s high society.

After she died, the reputation of Belmont as a grand place continued on. It became an aristocratic girl’s finishing school, Ward-Belmont, and finally a well respected academic institution, Belmont University. But over the years, various alumni and staff have had odd encounters within its august halls, things that cannot be explained by natural causes.

No one has actually seen Adelicia roaming the halls; but on more than one occasion, student, faculty and staff have had fey and uncanny experiences in the mansion, especially at Christmastime, that make them believe she is indeed still inhabiting the old manse.

One of the annual Christmas celebrations at Belmont is called “Hanging of the Green” and the students stage an elaborate ritual revolving around a tall winding staircase. Over the years, students involved in the Yuletide ritual have reported feeling a female presence there, while waiting for the ceremony to begin. Others hear the rustling of crinoline dresses, when no one is there. Other unexplained encounters also occur with uncanny frequency, especially around Christmas.

So, do Adelicia and other members of her ghostly clan still inhabit the august halls of Belmont Mansion? Go there sometime and find out for yourself.

For more about Belmont Mansion and its ghostly guests, see Strange Tales of the Dark and Bloody Ground; Ghosts and Haunts of Tennessee will also you tell you more about the areas favorite haunts. Belmont Mansion is located at 1700 Acklen Avenue
Nashville, TN 37212 and is open to the public: cf. http://belmontmansion.com/

Yeah, I could just skip it, but this is more challenging. Think of something good to say in 3 minutes flat.

I’ve been thinking about the prompt for Thing 7 all day. It has such potential, it’s so… abstract. It seems wasteful to throw it away on three minutes. But, that word again.. what’s that word… oh yes. Challenge.

Ready?

The light flooded my eyes and cast a hue of cerulean over my face. I was mesmerized by the effect of the object clutched in my fingertips. There were all shades of blue echoing from it. Casting taunts at the moonlight.

It seemed a rare thing to have found it. Here. Now. In the middle of the night. On the beach amidst waves of blue and crashes of sliver moon beams.

What was a giant opal doing floating ashore on the beach? Who had lost it. It must have dropped. My fingers curled around it a bit tighter, holding the gem close. I glanced around. There was no one. Deserted. Completely.

I smiled. A gift for me. A secret treasure of midnight blues. I tucked the opal into my pocket, keeping it safe from the salty wind that stirred around me and turned home.

(the prompt: what a person holding a blue object is thinking.)

Good Night! Sleep well!

-The Fox Log

As the sound of vacuum cleaners removing the last of the pine needles and tiny pieces of tinsel  from our carpets slowly fades, the annual debate continues. When  exactly is the twelfth day of Christmas?

Whenever it is – some say it’s January 5th and others says January 6th – it is the traditional date for saying farewell to the festivities and returning to some semblance of ‘normal’ life.

Depending on how seriously you take these things, failing to effectively pack away Christmas by the said date will either mark you out as a little bit lazy or a potential winner in a prize draw to receive seven years bad luck, a visit from the four horsemen of the Apocalypse or eternal damnation.

Happily the latter options are only fermented in the imaginations of the extremely paranoid.

So why is it that, even though we don’t believe any of this nonsense, the cards are being taken down and our beautiful tree is being clipped into recyclable sized pieces?

The fact is most of us enjoy the excuse to get shot of Christmas after a while.

Like a rather loud and brash friend who turns up once a year, it’s enormous fun for a week or so but can all too easily outstay its welcome.

Anyway we’ll soon need the space  for the Easter eggs.

The Christmas tree tried to kill me.

That’s right, the tree finally had enough of me and wanted me gone.

On Monday I probably had a mild 24-hour virus (fever of 101), but by the next day the fever was gone. However, my throat was horribly sore and my head was pounding.

After enduring this hell with over-the-counter and homeopathic remedies for four days, I finally ran out of cold medicine and went in search of a doctor.

That’s when I realized…I felt great!

I came home and within thirty minutes, bam! Sick again! Swollen throat with actual sores. I couldn’t speak in my normal register.

So today I decided to test my hypothesis again. Went out. Felt great. Came home. Felt bad.

Realized NOBODY else was getting sick.

And then it hit me.

The tree.

If the thing didn’t cause me to break out in hives and blisters when I touched it (its sap burns my skin!), I would have lifted it out the door and put it in the trash and set it on fire. But it would probably get me in the end with its toxic ashes.

So Hubba took it out tonight, and I took a Benadryl.

I’m still not 100%, but already I can breather easier – literally. And talk. And eat food instead of chicken broth, since only one side of my throat is swollen now.

This sucker even gave me an ear infection. Isn’t that just darling?

Next year, fake tree. I refuse to help anything that wants me dead, and that includes the environment.

Lodgepole pine, it is YOUR fault the polar bears are dying!

Sass

As long as I’ve lived in the city, I’ve had a fascination with curbside trash, not in garbage bins, but things from people’s homes that have been cast to the street.  Furniture, sporting goods, kitchenware, mattresses (often with signs to clarify their bedbug status), boxy TV’s that have been replaced by flat screens.  Sad objects out of their element, waiting to be collected, re purposed, burned, or hopefully given a new home.  At times I find it humorous, at others depressing, but always interesting, like little clues about our society, our consumption habits, tastes, neighborhoods, and individual households.

At this time of year, the curbside Christmas tree is a ubiquitous city sight, everywhere at the moment, and trickling off for a few months (some of the above photos were shot as late as April). They are particularly interesting because they are living things, plants, that provide immense joy to millions of families for a very brief time and then are laid on the street like, well, garbage.  Grown and purchased with full knowledge of their short usable life.

A few years back, I shot a bunch of these curbside trees, more so in the trickling off weeks and months, and never really did anything with any of the photos unitl now, but the exercise made me wonder about the next step for the trees. Where do they all meet again for their final journey to the wood chipper, compost pile, or land fill?  In January of 2012 I contacted Recology, SF’s garbage collection agency, and was given a short tour of what was essentially a giant pile of trees in one of the back lots of the dump. These piles of trees are chipped and converted into boiler fuel for the generators at Recology’s recycling center. I shot some photos and used one as a “Happy New Year” postcard, which I though was pretty clever and maybe a little dark.  Anyway, they too have been sitting around on my hard drive doing nothing and I figured some of us may be interested in knowing where our trees disappear to after we set them to the curb.

When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among people,
To make music in the heart.

“The Work of Christmas”
Howard Thurman