I love Christmas. I love the familiar rituals that I’ve followed for forty plus years. Around the 10th of December, Doug gets the big extension ladder out and props it up against the opening to the attic. One by one, he hands me the worn boxes marked “Christmas” out of the attic with their CDs, ornaments, knickknacks, and the crèche. Our live Christmas tree always comes from Glacier Gardens, but the wreath with the big red bow is plumped up with boughs from a convenient tree behind our house.
