I got a tree today — I’ve been kicking around whether or not I wanted one this year — but there I was at the grocery store, and there was a perfectly lovely little tree for fifteen bucks, and so, I have a tree again. I have a little issue with my inner Martha Stewart — and it sometimes manifests itself in the desire to create my platonic ideal right here in my living room. This year’s tree is about a six on the Martha-meter — it’s not as elaborate as some trees I’ve decorated in the past, but there’s still more stuff on it than most people feel compelled to put on a tree.
And so, after a lovely day in which I went to hear my eight year old friend Sophia sing in the Holiday Recital, that would be Sophia-of-the-perfect-pitch, and in which I got my tree up and decorated, and took advantage of the unseasonably warm weather to wash all my windows so I can see through the old-fashioned storms, I’m now curled up on the couch, eating a delicious bowl of mac-and-cheese-with-hotdogs, and watching the final night of the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas. Next year, to paraphrase my Jewish friends at a different holiday, Next Year in Las Vegas!