Today’s the day we celebrate Christmas at our house (it’s within the twelve days of the season, so this is kosher, although I hope no one gives anybody three French hens). Nate had some singing jobs lined up and couldn’t get away; Jennifer still won’t arrive till Saturday, but there’s only so long you can put things off.
Last Saturday, Pippa and Laura and Si decorated our tree, which we have named “Bob” every year for the past eight years or so for reasons too convoluted to elaborate here. This year’s Bob cuts an especially dashing figure, though my photo doesn’t do it justice:
Close examination of the giftage around the tree will reveal something (typically) odd. It turns out that
Pippa Margaret decided that we ought not participate in the annual deforestation ritual that requires every gift to be surrounded by paper destined to the torn off and discarded in a matter of moments. She brilliantly connected the problem of gift-concealment with the query I posted last summer concerning what to do with canvas tote bags. As a result, the gifts from local family members to one another have all been wrapped packaged in canvas totes, tied closed with a tag that Pippa prepared.
Yet another stroke of out-of-the-box thinking from your syncopated blogging friends here.