Everybody loves (or at least loves to hate) a list. This is especially true around the end of the year, when our inclination to rank things and to build coherent narratives out of the chaos of loosely related events goes into overdrive.
For this week’s challenge, I invite you to breathe new life into the established genre of the end-of-year countdown list.
I don’t make lists unless I’m going grocery shopping. I just don’t. I keep a running list of things I need to deal with in my head. I keep a calendar on my computer with appointments and other important dates, but no lists.
Do I love lists? Do I hate lists?
I have no feelings at all about lists. They have a place and serve a purpose, but can you really call it writing? I know David Letterman made a career out of lists, but he’s not a writer, is he?
I thought I’d add a postscript on the subject of the tree. Every year, we face the Christmas tree conundrum. I love real trees, but I hate the mess and I always feel bad watching the tree die.
It bothers me. Maybe it’s stupid. No doubt I’m excessively sentimental. I anthropomorphize animals and plants, but there you have it. So, we decided to buy a live tree from L.L. Bean.
It’s a baby Alberta spruce that comes decorated with lights and real starfish. When the ground thaws in the spring, we will plant it in the back yard and watch it grow.
I get to have a real Christmas tree and don’t have to watch it slowly die. Instead I can watch it grow and thrive. I don’t know how the rest of family — other than Garry who helped me choose it — will feel, but I’m happy.
Even should the rest of our tribe decide to put up another tree, this one is small enough to be a beautiful centerpiece that will happily occupy the dining room table throughout the holidays and live on long after the wrapping paper and bows are gone.