Too close in two ways

I thought I must write a post on the horrible, horrible fire on the Dragon Hill last night. A little after midnight, I heard the sirens, and then saw the flames, and immediately knew that nobody got out. The fire was just too wild. It roared against the sky and spewed out billowing fireballs and a thick column of ash and smoke.

And across the park, a mere skip and a jump away, I was lying in bed, watching it all, like a disaster movie on tv. But it wasn't a tv screen, it was my window, and it was real. Real people in there, still in there.

But then I thought: No, I can't. It's too horrible. I can't write only about that, not this close to the holidays.

So here are two Christmas darlings to soothe you: Pims and Sprucie.



Pims is ungainly and fed up and just ready for it to be over now. From time to time she cries and wails, and I wonder for a minute if it's started. But no, she just wants to be cuddled a little while those pesky little paws rummage around under her fur. Poor sweetheart. You really have no idea what's coming.

And our Christmas tree, Sprucie, a fragrant, pretty spruce with even branches and a nice, dark green colour. We picked her out last weekend. I knew she would start to shed her needles early, being a spruce she can't help it in the warmth of the living room. And since Peter and I will be in different parts of the country come Christmas, we needed her now, so we could have some Christmas cosiness together. We ought to have gotten a silver fir, because they stay fresh for weeks. But I let Sprucie come anyway, because Peter had already said out loud that she was good-looking. You don't lead a Christmas tree on like that and then dash her hopes. You just don't.

So now she's there in the corner, all decked out in red and gold, and click by tiny, whispered click, the needles are gathering on the presents and teddy bears I put underneath her. That's okay, Sprucie. We like you anyway and won't throw you out.

(Please don't tell her about January.)