For years and years, we had a "faux" tree
a big nine footer
But I yearned for the smells of childhood
And so three years ago we began the tradition
a real tree
Alas, not many tree lots or even grocery stores
in our little town sell
(Our little town on the prairie obviously is a
faux Christmas tree kind of town!)
And so we go South
to the little town once described
by a Tourism Committee member
as "Mount Pilot"
(to our "Mayberry")
It's become a ritual
Once home, it spends the night on the porch
"relaxing" it's branches.
But with the trip to "Mount Pilot",
we always stop in the little "Italian" town just north of there.
A tiny town, a mining town
where Italian ancestors came to work.
The Italian grocery in that town is but a
shadow of it's former self
But it still sells its sausages, it "gravy", and other Italian delicacies
And the best panini I've ever eaten.
So big that the two of us share one!
(or at least always the last three years)
We also buy to take home
what is known in this area as
They're really Italian pizzelles
but there, they call them "French"!
By whatever name they're called
A taste of the Christmas season
and we always bring a bag home with us.
For once home,
we're cold and tired
(tree picking is hard work!)
and a mug of tea and some "French" cookies
revive our spirit.
The mug (one of a pair -- the other is red)
is our favorite big tea or hot cocoa mug in December.
(And a years ago Christmas gift from dear Friend Carolyn)
And a steaming big mug of Harney's Hot Cinnamon Tea
warms us from head to toe.
Tomorrow . . . we decorate the tree!
And with all the ado of unloading the tree,
Doogie retired to a wing chair
Keeping his eye on what is going on
But, alas, pretending that none of it interests him!
She just takes things in stride and is out chasing squirrels.